


And So It Began With You

by RandomnessisBliss



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie gets sick, Angst, Cute, Episode Tag, F/M, Fluff, He's so cute, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, The Sin Eater, beachin', hopefully, i just really love these two idiots, ichabbie - Freeform, ichabod is a nurse, sick day, the golem - Freeform, they are perf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomnessisBliss/pseuds/RandomnessisBliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of non-linear one-shots centered around the Ichabbie ship.<br/>The long-awaited next chapter is piece of angst from Ichabod's perspective in the wake of Novus Ordo Seclorum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meteor Shower

A/N: Leave it to these two losers to drag me out of my years long fic-writing dry-spell. This is short and (hopefully) fluffy, and in case you can't tell, I ship these two like nothing else. This has not been beta-d and all mistakes are my own. I hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to FOX or the creators of Sleepy Hollow

"C'mon, Crane, just a little bit farther," Abbie said, making haste as she strode through the darkening forest. For once, she was navigating the wooded areas around Sleepy Hollow better than he.

"You still have yet to tell me where we are going, Lieutenant," Ichabod said, dutifully carrying the wicker basket he had insisted on carrying,filled with food Abbie had packed for them. Not this blasted "fast food" for once. As much as he had enjoyed his brief jaunt into the world of "French Fried" potatoes, he thoroughly preferred food in which he could distinguish the contents.

"There's a clearing up here, far from the city. You'll see," Abbie said. "Just past this rock, and we'll be there." A large boulder loomed perhaps a hundred meters ahead of them, and Ichabod could already see the trees begin to thin. The sun fast beginning to set, but before it had the chance, they emerged into a small clearing atop a hill, from which you could see the entire sprawling "small town" of Sleepy Hollow laid out in front of him like a postcard.

"This is truly a wondrous sight, Miss Mills, but is there a reason we could not have just stayed home and had supper there?" Ichabod asked, transferring the basket to Abbie's open hands. She unfolded the red gingham-print blanket sitting on top and laid it on the ground before sitting and taking out the contents of the basket.

"Yep, but just wait. You'll see," she said and handed him a plate with a turkey sandwich, potato "chips", and a glass of a sweetened concoction Abbie had called lemonade.

"Okay, so first order of business," Abbie said, getting her own plate of food. "This is a picnic, and is about as white-picket-fence-apple-pie American as you can get, and everyone needs to go to one at least once in their lives."

"Lieutenant, apple pies did not even originate in the United States, in fact they were first concocted by-" Ichabod began.

Abbie held up her hand. "I do not even want to know, Crane. The sentiment stands."

Ichabod took a bite of the sandwich and swallowed, "Well, then. Onto a different topic. Miss Mills, I still do not understand why you don't cook more often. You are a simply marvelous chef."

She took a sip of her lemonade and set the cup down on a relatively flat area. "Never have the time, and Crane, it's just a sandwich. Not filet mignon or anything."

"The sentiment stands," he parroted, and gave her a grin. She tried her best to look annoyed, but he could see the laughter in her dark umber eyes. "How is this preferable to eating indoors, where you have proper utensils and tables on which to set things?"

Abbie shrugged. "You get to spend some time in the great outdoors with your family, eating food and bonding. At least that's what I think the original idea was. Never did get to do it as a kid though."

Ichabod couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of sympathy for his fellow witness. Miss Mills certainly never showed it, but her past hurt her, and all of the missed experiences-however different from the classical childhood experiences of Ichabods own pre-pubescence-weighed heavily on her. He reached for her hand, resting on the blanket beside her. She looked at him and he melted just a little bit when she squeezed his hand back.

"I am honoured to share this picnic with you, Miss Mills, and I hope I have proven to be amenable company in the absence of a preferable alternative," Ichabod said, looking earnestly into her eyes.

"I couldn't have chosen better company," Abbie said, grinning. He smiled back, happy once again knowing there was no one better chosen by God's grace to be his fellow witness than Miss Abigail Mills. He retracted his hand, not wanting to intrude, but almost missed the warmth of her skin against his. Ichabod immediately banished the thought. He was married, very much happily married to his Katrina, and shouldn't be having these thoughts about his partner.

Abbie hadn't noticed his mental chastisement and began collecting dishes. "Sun's going down and I don't want to miss a second," she said.

"Miss a second of what, Miss Mills?"

"You'll see," Abbie said sagely. Ichabod was fast growing tired of that phrase, but didn't want to put Miss Mills out of her good temper. He helped clean up the rest of their mess, and before they knew it, the sun had set, painting the horizon in reds, oranges, and purples before settling into a deep, midnight blue.

"Now lay back, and just watch," Abbie said. "It'll start soon."

Abbie lay back on the blanket crossing her arms underneath her head and watched the sky. Ichabod did the same, trying to manage the same kind of easy grace the Lieutenant possessed. Once he was in the same position as she, he asked, "Would you like a lesson on the constellations while we wait? I've heard they aren't as well known in your time."

"I'd love one," Abbie said. "As soon as you get your ass off the grass and onto the blanket. I know how thin it is, Crane, and your clothes are dirty enough."

"It wouldn't be proper-" Ichabod said, looking over at Abbie only to be met with her glare that told him she wasn't asking. He acquiesced without another word, "scooching", as she so eloquently called it before, fully onto the blanket. Miss Mill's body was only separated from his by inches, and he could feel her body heat next to him.

"Okay, lesson time, Crane," Abbie said and he began telling her of the constellations in the late summer sky. Ursa Major and Minor, in the north, the big and little bears flung into the sky by their lengthened tails. Then onto Cepheus and Cassiopeia the King and Queen who had gotten themselves cast into the sky by their own capriciousness and narcissism. Next was their daughter, Andromeda with the great hero Perseus Cygnus, Aquila, Lyra, and the dying dregs of Sagittarius and Scorpius were next as he worked his way around the sky. Though the stars seemed dimmer than before, Ichabod was comforted by the fact that at least one thing in this world had changed completely.

Miss Mills listened intently the entire time, entranced by the same Greek myths he had loved in his childhood, and he was so thankful to be able to share them with her.

"That leads us back around to Draco the-" Ichabod began, only to see a shooting star streak out of the formation. "Miss Mills, is this-"

"A meteor shower? Yeah," she said, smiling over at him. "I guessed-correctly, just so you know-that you would be into astronomy. The news said there was a 'draconid' meteor shower today, and I thought you'd like to see it."

"Yes, I am very pleased you've showed me, Miss Mills," Ichabod said, still unused to this different kind of caring the Lieutenant showed him, which was quieter, more subtle, but just as powerful, if not more so, than the love he had shared with Katrina.

"Good," Abbie said, settling herself on the blanket. If Ichabod didn't know any better, he would think she was moving nearer to him, if only by millimeters. "Or else I would've been completely lost with this whole meteor shower thing. I've never seen one before."

"Then I'm doubly glad," Ichabod said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbie rub her arms, as if to quell the gooseflesh on her skin. "Miss Mills, are you cold?"

Abbie stopped as if she had been caught doing something she should've have been. "No, I'm fine."

"Poppycock," Ichabod said, sitting up and removing his thick, beloved coat. "Please, take this. You need it far more than I."

"Crane, seriously, I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Miss Mills. You are chilled and I am insisting you take my coat," He tried the I'm-not-asking look on her, and it must've had some effect, because with an aggravated sigh she accepted his coat and shrugged it on, taking extra care with the centuries old fabric. It was comically huge on her tiny frame, and his heart warmed just looking at her.

"Don't you look cute," Ichabod said, smiling. Abbie glared and didn't respond, though once she laid down he noticed her snuggle deeper into the coat and tucked the cuffs around her fingers.

"Admit it, you appreciate me, just a little," Ichabod said, chuckling to himself as he watched Miss Mills try and fail to hide a smile. "Microscopically," she said.

Ichabod returned her smile, looking into her eyes for another moment before again laying down. This time, he was sure Miss Mills had moved ever closer to him. Or was he the one moving closer? Either way, he couldn't be bothered to care.

Ichabod looked toward the sky, the constellations he knew so well that had guided him across sea and field. They guided him now, centered him in this tumultuous time with their steadfastness, just as the small, spitfire of a woman beside him did.

Moments of silence passed, the rare kind that Ichabod didn't feel the need to fill with chatter. It was the most peaceful he had felt since coming to this era, and words could not express the amount of gratitude he had for Miss Mills thinking to share this with him. So he didn't try, better to let the Lieutenant lay in peace while damnable words failed him and his heart. It was a surprise when it was Miss Mills broke the silence.

"I'm glad you're here with me tonight, Crane," she said, her voice lower than usual, as if she was embarrassed to say it.

"As I am glad to be by your side, Lieutenant," Ichabod said, finding the best words of which he was capable. And when Abbie's small hand reached for his, he didn't even hesitate to entwine his fingers with hers. Ichabod relaxed, now. He was perfectly content to spend the rest of forever here, with Miss Mills wearing his coat, his fingers tangled with hers while the stars shot across the endless, unchanging sky.

A/N:

I hope you guys enjoyed! It's been forever since I wrote any kind of fic, and commentary and criticism would be more than welcome.


	2. Usually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after 1x06 "The Sin Eater" Abbie confronts Ichabod about his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments, the kudos, and for even bothering to read this. Your feedback really means a lot to me. This chapter is a great deal more angsty than the last, and I hope you enjoy it!

Abbie put the car in park and opened her door before Crane even had the chance to blink. let alone have him try and open it for her. It was one of the few old-fashioned, gentlemanly things she usually let Crane do. Usually.  
Not now. Now she strode to the back of the SUV and heaved open the hatch, riffling through until she found her duffle bag of emergency overnight stuff. Always prepared, like a damn boyscout.  
Crane was waiting by his car door, obviously too stunned by her ice-cold demeanor. The Lieutenant usually let him open the door for her. She usually smiled and laughed as he almost always got the seat belt buckle caught in the door. Usually came in for a cup of tea or coffee or simply to watch a different movie because as she had so calmly explained Crane you need a damned crash course on pop culture, but let’s just marathon the Pirates of the Caribbean to start. Never was she so agitated. Movements jerky and sharp like staccato piano notes.  
“Miss Mills, I am confused--” he began, but when she looped around him, she could see that he knew something was up.  
Good. This was no time for usual. Not when Crane was being so reckless, so stupid, so selfish. No, not selfish. The idiotic bastard was unselfish to a fault, when he considered--when he didn’t consider...well, Abbie needed to talk to him, and since she couldn’t form words right now, she would just wait by his side until she could.  
Abbie’s blocky heels clicked against the worn wood of the cabin’s porch and the door didn’t even creak when she unlocked it and stepped inside. She didn’t even hold the door open for him. Why should she spare him any courtesy when he couldn’t do the same for her?  
“Miss Mills,what is that bag for?” Crane tried again, getting a whole statement out this time.  
Again, she ignored him. Abbie wasn’t sure she wouldn’t just start screaming or sobbing--or both--if she opened her mouth right now. Better not risk it. She got out the classical teapot Crane has insisted on getting.  
I refuse to drink this dishwater that passes for tea, he had said, I will require a proper teapot, with proper looseleaf, if you please. His stupid British tea with its stupid looseleaf and idiotic strainer that tasted so stupid good. It almost made her angrier, remembering when he actually cared about something relating to himself.  
Crane stood awkwardly to the side, not knowing what to do with himself. Abbie didn’t care. She just needed something in her hands, so she wouldn’t strangle him. The step stool she had bought to help her reach the upper cabinets he so enjoyed taking advantage of just wasn’t unfolding correctly, and she nearly pinched her finger off when it finally did snap open.  
When she turned to climb the steps, she had the tea canister shoved into her face.  
“Here, Miss Mills, I retrieved it for you,” Ichabod said, looking so much like a puppy dog that didn’t know why it was being punished. He knew damn well what he did. Abbie just grunted instead of saying thanks, and measured out three teaspoons into the teakettle.  
One for you, one for myself, and one for the pot, Ichabod had explained the first time he showed her how to make proper English tea. He had seemed so pleased, so happy to be sharing that experience with her.  
Abbie turned from the teapot, letting it steep.  
“Miss Mills, please explain to me what you brought that bag in here for,” Crane said, standing directly in front of her so she couldn’t step to the side and not respond, again.  
“I’m staying the night,” Abbie said, looking up into his eyes.   
“But that wouldn’t be proper,” Crane said, stepping back. As if impropriety was the one demon he actually cared about.  
“Well I don’t trust you to be alone right now, so the nightwatch it is for me--” She held up her finger when she saw his mouth opening. “No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it Crane. I’m staying, so just keep your mouth shut.”  
Abbie set her bag over by the foot of the couch, moving pillows off to the side before going to Crane’s--Corbin’s--linen cabinet and grabbing a blanket. When she came back to the living room, Crane had already poured their tea and prepared it just the way she liked it, a splash of cream one sugar. Why did he have to keep being so nice? Couldn’t he be mean, be rude, ungentlemanly just once? Maybe get pissed back when she was so obviously pissed at him. But no, he sat stiff and still on the couch, preparing for the storm that would inevitably hit. Abbie only got angrier.  
“Miss Mills, please, sit. Drink some tea,” Ichabod said, moving over to the opposite arm of the couch. She dumped the old patchwork quilt unceremoniously on the middle cushion.  
“Don’t tell me what to do, Crane,” Abbie said, trying to figure out the best way to say what was on her mind.  
“I was simply thinking of you, Lieutenant. You look like you could use some tea to calm you down,” he said, holding up her teacup. There was hope in his eyes that she would just let this go, that she would accept the teacup, put her feet up and they would start back up on the pop culture lesson. Like usual.  
Abbie took the cup and saucer with shaking hands before setting them aside.  
“How about once, you think about yourself, Crane,” Abbie said as slowly and calmly as she could, hands fisted at her sides.  
“Pardon me?”  
“That stunt you pulled tonight, Crane. Not okay,” Abbie said, drawing herself as tall as she could, trying to look intimidating and angry as was possible for a five-one woman.  
“I understand you’re upset, Lieutenant, but everything’s fine now. I’m alright,” Crane said, standing too, as if to show that everything was working properly. Without even meaning to, he towered over her, making her feel inferior, small, weak.  
“Fine? Everything’s fine? Everything sure as hell is not fine, Crane. You tried to kill yourself tonight, and you’re trying to say that since it didn’t work, that you walked out of that place alive, after you’d been kidnapped, that everything is fine?” Abbie was yelling now and she didn’t even care. How dare he try and brush it off as if it were nothing, as if one hug would make everything all better.  
“It didn’t work, Miss Mills, and that’s the important thing. Mr. Parrish got there in time. I’m alive. Not ‘kidnapped’,and certainly not dead,” he tried again.  
“If you had your way, you would be,” Abbie said. “You would be dead and I would be left all alone again because you can’t for one second think about what you dying would do to the plan, to--”  
Ichabod’s temper finally flared. “If I were dead, Lieutenant Mills, then so would the Horseman of Death. I didn’t swallow that poison for the enjoyment, there was a purpose.”  
“You dying is not your purpose here, in this time! If dying was what you were meant to do, then the big man upstairs would’ve let you die on that battlefield two centuries ago! Your purpose is here, in the now. Do you know what you dying out of a false sense of responsibility would do to the plan? Do to me?” Abbie yelled, not realizing until it was too late what she had let slip.  
Ichabod’s face immediately softened, “Oh, Miss Mills. I’m sure you would feel a sense of loss, but you could’ve carried on without me.”  
“Carried on alone, you mean?” Abbie said, fear and adrenaline still choking her throat.  
“Yes,” Crane said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. “Alone, but you could do it alone, Miss Mills. I have every faith in your capability.”  
“My capability?” Abbie sputtered, and then Ichabod silenced her with a flash of his blue eyes.  
“I don’t think it’s me, you’re angry at Miss Mills. I know my fellow brothers have angered you by taking me, but--”  
“Every single person I have ever cared about has left me, Crane. My mom, my dad, Jenny, Corbin, Andy. Every single one. Then you have the nerve to try and kill yourself and leave me here alone, again. And you think I’m angry at the workload? At you silly secret society? No, I’m pissed at you, because I thought you of all people would know how important it is for us to stick together, so I don’t have to do anything alone again,” Abbie said, the dam finally breaking, and she could feel her voice cracking with every word, but she swallowed back tears. Crying once in a day was enough for her.  
“Miss Mills, I deeply apologize. I wasn’t thinking--”  
“You weren’t,” Abbie said, heaving a sigh. “But just promise me, promise that you won’t try that ever again, okay? Never. We’re a team, we make those big decisions together.”  
“I promise,” Ichabod said, then she was wrapped in his strong arms for the second time that day. “I promise I will never leave you alone and broken. I will forever be by your side, Abbie.”  
Abbie laughed and choked back a sob, hugging him back fiercely. Her anger had passed, and now she was just tired.  
“This doesn’t get you out of having a bodyguard tonight,” Abbie said, breathing in his scent of pine trees and old paper.  
“I simply wouldn’t dream of it,” Ichabod said, pulling back and giving her a smile that she finally returned. “Now let’s drink our tea before it gets cold, and we can watch that Terrance Potter?”  
Abbie chuckled and wiped the corners of her eyes. “Harry Potter, and yeah. Sorcerer’s Stone is up first.”  
She changed quickly into her long-sleeve button up pajamas, printed with little horses and horseshoes she got on sale at Macy’s a few Christmases back.  
“You like horses, Miss Mills?” Ichabod said when he saw her return and again offered her the cup of tea. This time she actually drank it.  
“As much as anyone else I guess, why?”  
“I will take you riding, then,” Ichabod said. “I will finally be able to teach you something.”  
“Alright, Crane. But now, let’s get ready for some magic.” Abbie hit play, and settled back into the couch.  
She had barely seen Quirrel and Snape arguing before she began to fall asleep.  
Hours later, she woke to the dawn light, wrapped in the quilt, her head nestled on Crane’s shoulder. His head rested atop hers.  
Abbie could tell he was awake when he shifted minutely beneath her.  
“Why didn’t you go to your bed?” Abbie said, slurring her words a little with a yawn and sat up.  
Ichabod looked her in the eyes and gave a small grin. “Did I not promise a few hours ago to never leave your side?” He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  
She felt warm all over, and it wasn’t the quilt. When Crane took her hand, and rubbed circles on the back, Abbie knew she never would be left alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and tell me what I can do better or if you have a request for a chapter or if something is OOC. I love hearing from you guys :)
> 
> Best wishes  
> Bliss


	3. Save a Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod takes Abbie horseback riding. Not everything goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To all of you who have left comments, kudos, or follows THANK YOU SO MUCH. I'm a freshman in college right now, and I have quite a lot of stress during my weeks, and seeing your responses make me smile so hard :)
> 
> This chapter was harder for me to write, so I hope you all enjoy it. If you don't, please feel free to tell me why. I've taken fiction classes, I know how to handle critiques. Also, I haven't ridden a horse since I was twelve, so pardon any factual errors on that front.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

"When I agreed to horseback riding lessons, I was thinking maybe in a month, or a year," Abbie said, turning into Canterbrooke Stables. "Not in two days."

"A promise is a promise, Lieutenant," he smiled down at her. Today, he could finally teacher her a skill for once. Excitement barely covered his feelings on the subject. After Abbie's breakdown the other night, he was taking pains to make sure she knew he was there for her, that he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

"Okay, well," Abbie continued. "Where did you even find out about this place?"

Ichabod toyed with the strap of his seatbelt. "The Captain. There is a Cavalry Brigade in New York City, I've been informed. This is where they get the horses for their forces. It is comforting to know that the modern era still recognizes the usefulness of a good horse."

"Sure," Abbie said, parking the car and shifted out of gear. "Now let's get this over with."

"Why are you not more excited?" Ichabod said when he opened Abbie's door, helping her out of the Sports Utility Vehicle. Maybe she was just humouring him when she said yes to his question about her horse pajamas. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

"It's one thing to think, 'man, horses are really, really cool, I want to own a pony,' as a little girl and actually going out and getting on another living creature and riding it," Abbie said, pulling her hair into a "ponytail," Ichabod tried to hide his grin at the irony.

They advanced toward the low, white barn surrounded by acres and acres of green, rolling hills. A few areas had places for jumps and barrels, and a few roan and paint horses stood grazing among the grass.

"Riding was by far one of the most enjoyable things in my childhood," Ichabod said, walking just beside Abbie. "The wind in your hair, troubles at your back. It felt as if you had all the freedom in the world."

"Sounds like you really cut loose," Abbie said, stepping inside the office while Ichabod held the door for her.

"I don't catch your-" Ichabod began when he was interrupted by a woman just as short as Abbie, with blonde hair cut close to her head, wearing tight jeans and brown riding boots.

"Hello, my name is Kat, and I've been told to be expecting a Mr. Ichabod," she paused while saying his name and looked up as if to confirm she had said it correctly. He nodded. "Crane, and a Miss Abigail Mills?"

"That's us," Abbie said.

"Good, good. Come with me," Kat said with a smile. "I've been told you're a new rider, Abigail."

"Just Abbie," the Lieutenant said.

"Abbie, okay. Firstly, welcome to Canterbrooke. We specialize in horses for various police forces around the state of New York but primarily the Central Park Cavalry Division." Miss Kat continued explaining about the actual stables and the business, but Ichabod wasn't paying much attention. He was overwhelmed by the scent of hay and horses and dirt, and he felt as if was walking into one of his own memories.

"So Abbie," Miss Kat said, and Ichabod began paying attention once again. "Since you're a newbie, we're going to set you up with one of our calmer horses. As for you, Mr. Crane, since you're so," she looked at his long frame, as if she was already feeling sorry for his horse. "Tall, we set you up with one of our geldings. He's a little spirited, but if you have a firm hand, you should be alright."

"Of course, Miss Kat," Ichabod said. "Would you mind terribly if I conducted the lesson with Miss Mills?"

"Sorry, that's against our policy-"

"Oh, pardon. I forgot to mention we had this," Ichabod pulled out a letter from Captain Irving on official NYPD stationery signed with a flourish on the bottom. He handed the letter to Kat, and gave a mischievous grin to Abbie. She gave him an odd sort of look and mouthed you planned for this?. Ichabod grinned and nodded once, before Miss Kat looked from the letter to him and back again.

"Well, if the Captain says it's alright, then I guess it is, since you owned your own commercial military stable in Cambridgeshire. Just shout if you need any help," Kat said, and opened the door to the stables. A small paint pony stood calmly and serenely, tied to a fence post in a large indoor arena maybe two hundred yards across with a hardened dirt floor. Next to the pony was a large, barrel-chested black gelding who looked as if he couldn't care less as to what was occurring. "The pony's Flash, and the gelding is Onyx. They're already saddled and bridled, footstool's over there if you need help getting up on the horses."

"Thank you, Miss Kat. I believe I can handle it from here," Crane said.

Kat nodded, and walked back toward the main office. Crane gestured for the Lieutenant to go into the arena.

"How did you get that letter from Irving? And how did he get the official NYPD stationery?" Abbie asked, advancing cautiously toward the horses.

"I simply asked the Captain, if he would be able to help me in this endeavour. He acquiesced and used some leftover stationery that he had stored, and here we are." Crane said, still rather proud of himself for the plan.

"Well, that's helpful," Abbie said. She stopped walking about ten feet from Flash. He could see the hesitancy in her eyes and the way she held herself.

Crane walked up close behind her, arms crossed behind his back. "He's a beautiful creature, isn't he?"

Abbie just gave a little nod. Ichabod swallowed, she had said she liked horses "Since they've already got their bridles and saddles on, we can go straight to riding."

"Great," Abbie said.

"Usually we'd start by having you muck out the stalls for a few weeks, then brushing the horses, then you might have the chance to put on a saddle. You, Miss Mills, have the delight of skipping all of that," Ichabod said, and began padding toward Flash. He held out his hand for Miss Mills to follow. She did, even more slowly than him.

"Why don't you two get acquainted?" Ichabod said. She nodded, and followed Ichabod's lead, patting Flash's brown and black splotched neck. In a few moments, it seemed as if most of her jitters were gone, and Ichabod began to smile again. This was a good idea after all. Now all they had to do was get Abbie up in the saddle. She seemed almost piteously small when compared to the pony, and Ichabod looked around for the stepstool to help her up into the stirrups.

"What are you doing, Crane?" she asked when he began walking away.

"You're here to ride, and that involves getting on the horse. I'm getting you means to get up in the saddle, as you may have noticed, he's rather large-" Ichabod turned to find the lieutenant with her foot stuck in the stirrup. He rushed back to help her, lifting her by the waist so he could pull the stirrup off her boot and set her back gently against the dirt floor. It was times like these that he remembered how tiny Miss Mills actually was. His fingers almost met when they wrapped around her waist, and she was impossibly light as he had lifted her. "What did you think you were doing?" he asked, and he couldn't keep some of the worry out of his voice..

"I was trying to get on the damned horse," Abbie said, blush spreading across her cheeks. "I'm a grown ass woman who can take care of herself."

"But apparently not grown enough to get on a pony," Crane said. "Now if you'll just wait, I can get you that stool and you can get on the horse and not upset him." This time, he was able to go and retrieve the step stool and returned to find Abbie slowly petting the horse's neck.

"He's so calm," Abbie said, almost to herself.

"Yes, we're lucky. Few horses would be able to stand that kind of stunt you just pulled," Crane said. "Now, climb up, and put your left foot in this stirrup, then hoist yourself up to get your other leg over."

Abbie did as she was told, and was soon astride Flash. "I feel like I'm up so high," Abbie said. "Is this how you see the world, Crane?"

He chuckled, happy to see the Lieutenant finally 'loosening up'. "I suppose it is," he said. "Now if you'll hand me the reins?"

She gave him the thin leather straps, and he gently tugged Flash along. "Back straight, don't act scared. The beast can feel if you're scared."

He led her around in a walk for little while, and when he believed she could handle it, he gave her the reins. "Wait a moment, and then you can learn to trot."

Ichabod walked over to Onyx and patted the horse's neck before swinging himself up into the saddle. It had been too long since he had ridden, and the feeling of being astride a horse made him feel as if he could actually accomplish something. He snapped the reins and let Onyx over to the Lieutenant.

"Alright, now, a trot is a little bit faster-back straight, Miss Mills-and it's going to be a bit bumpy, so be prepared, just rise and fall with him," Ichabod said, "Nudge his ribs a little and snap the reins." Crane demonstrated, Onyx following his commands nicely. Ichabod looked to watch the Lieutenant's progess from the opposite side of the arena. He realized as soon as Abbie snapped the reins and kicked Flash's belly that she had gone too hard. Flash took off in a burst of speed, immediately going into a gallop. With a scream Abbie tried to yank the reins back. Flash responded by bucking, and Abbie fell backward, hit the ground hard and didn't move..

Ichabod swore his heart stopped for a moment, and he raced over to Abbie. Onyx wasn't even fully stopped when Ichabod threw himself off the horse and was immediately at her side.

"Miss Mills?" He said, checking her head for bumps and bruises. "Lieutenant." He shook her shoulder. When she still didn't respond, her put her head in his lap, moving to pull his cellular telephone out of his pocket. His hands were shaking as he tried to dial the one number besides her own she had him memorize. 9-1

Ichabod heard a small groan as Abbie opened her eyes. He was still for a moment, unsure of what to do.

"Damn," Abbie said, blinking her eyes slowly. "What happened?"

"You just got thrown off a horse, Lieutenant," Crane said, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "And then you didn't get up."

"It feels as if I was trampled by a horse, but hey, at least I can still feel my legs," Abbie said, trying to pull off a joke. Ichabod was not amused. Didn't she realize she could have died? Ichabod knew more than one child who had been thrown from his horse and never did get up. Ever. He communicated that to Miss Mills.

"Crane, I-" Abbie tried to sit up, and Ichabod helped her, until she was upright, but still leaned heavily against his shoulder. "Sorry, but really, I'm fine. A little dizzy, but everything still works as far as I can tell. Just help me stand."

Ichabod did as he was told, learning long ago he shouldn't try and argue with her when her mind was made up. He held her hands firmly, almost unwilling to let go when she was fully erect. Abbie nodded a little bit and tried to walk, but wound up falling back into Ichabod's chest when her left ankle crumpled beneath her weight. She hissed in pain and took a few deep breaths.

"Looks like I've got a sprain, at least. May be broken," Abbie said, looking up at Crane.

"Well that settles that," Crane said, before sweeping Abbie off her feet and into his arms. He ignored her protests and exited the arena. He stopped momentarily by the door of the office where Miss Kat sat doing paperwork.

"Thank you for the use of your facilities, but we must take our leave. The lieutenant has been injured." Ichabod said, and walked away without another word.

"Crane," Abbie said when they had left the building. "Set me down, now." She was wriggling in his arms, trying to squirm away. He would not be letting her out of his sight, not when this was his own fault. Ichabod would watch over her until she was well again.

"What's that phrase you love to use? 'Not a chance'?" he said. "You are injured Miss Mills, this must be taken care of. You have an ankle that may be broken, and maybe even a 'concussion'."

"That doesn't mean I can't walk," Abbie said. Crane didn't even dignify that with a response and just gave her a look. "Okay, fine, but all I need to do is get my ankle iced and wrapped up, and set an alarm to go off every two hours."

"Can you drive?" Ichabod asked. He had noticed she only used her right foot to drive, but he wasn't sure. He certainly wouldn't be able to wrangle the vehicle, and he would prefer not to walk the whole way back to his cabin, but if that's what the Lieutenant needed, he would walk the twenty-six miles back without a complaint, carrying Miss Mills the entire way.

"Yes, I can drive," Abbie sighed. "And no way would I let you walk the whole way back regardless." She knew him too well.

"Good," Ichabod said. "So you will drive home, and I will keep watch over you just as you do for me."

"No goddamned-"

"It's happening whether you like it or not, Miss Mills. I do not wish for you to fall even more ill because I didn't take responsibility for my actions." he said, and opened the car door, placing her in the driver's side seat.

"Alright," Abbie sighed. "Let's get going then."

Abbie drove back, and as soon as they were home, Ichabod brought her in. She changed into her horseshoe printed pajamas. The irony wasn't lost on either of them. He wrapped her ankle in an ace bandage as he had been instructed and placed ice on top before tucking her into bed. The Lieutenant had agreed that she perhaps had a concussion and told him to wake her up in two hours. He didn't question why. Ichabod pulled Abbie's comforter over her.

"Thanks, Ichabod," Abbie said.

"You are most welcome," he said, and within moments after she closed her eyes, the Lieutenant was asleep. Ichabod looked at her prone form, noting again how tiny she appeared in sleep. He knew she didn't need to be protected, that she was fully capable of handling herself, but in his very core, he couldn't help but want to watch over her. He brushed her fringe off her forehead, and placed a kiss on her brow.

"I shall see you in two hours, Abbie," he said, and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading everyone! hope you liked it.
> 
> best wishes!
> 
> Bliss


	4. You Talk Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Ichabod watch a football game. Someone is more than a little enamored with Tom Brady and Ichabod gets an adventure out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update guys! This last week just hit me really hard homework and work work wise (I had to write my first research paper in Spanish... :/) so I hope this chapter makes up for it. It's more than a little bit silly and is just based off a random thought I had in a particularly boring lecture. This takes place presumably a few years after Katrina is out of the picture (I don't much care how, died, sacrificed herself, whatever tickles your fancy for getting her out of the way). Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Sleepy Hollow and all related characters belong to FOX. All sports teams I mention belong to their respective franchises.

The television was blaring the Sunday Night Football theme song, and Crane was utterly confused by the whole ordeal. When he played football as a boy, the ball was shaped much differently and this armor all the players were wearing was completely new to him. But Abbie had insisted he sit down and watch some "real American football" so here he was.

"Only five minutes 'til kickoff," Abbie said as she set down a bowl of popcorn and folded her legs beneath her on the couch. She was wearing a large, baggy garment called a 'sweatshirt' emblazoned with a red, white, and blue head the word New England Patriots along the top. Then there were the yoga pants. Ichabod tried to not let himself be distracted—again—by those. "Miss Mills!" he exclaimed "What in the heavens are you wearing?"

Abbie looked down, "Just yoga pants. It's an off day, and I'm not going anywhere."

Ichabod gulped, maintaining a steady gaze on a point on the wall just behind the Lieutenant's head. "They're very form-fitting," he said. "Are you not uncomfortable?"

Please take them off, please take them off, he thought. For his own sake, he wished she would put on something normal, like a skirt and petticoats. Even those blasted skinny jeans would be better than this.

"These are literally the most comfortable item of clothing I own," Abbie said. "And they aren't worse than jeans, Crane. Welcome to the twenty-first century."

She was wrong then and she was wrong now. Yoga pants were worse. Much worse. Ichabod reached for the popcorn, just to give him something to do with his hands.

"Kickoff?"

Abbie swatted his hand away, "Hey, share. Does chivalry not apply to popcorn?" Abbie said and took the bowl, setting firmly in the exact middle of the coffee table. "Kickoff, beginning of the game. You'll see."

"Alright," Ichabod said. "Is this similar at all to 'baseball?'"

"No," Abbie said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Baseball's better, but it's something to watch during the off months."

Ichabod nodded and prepared himself for American football. A shot of some scantily clad women doing kicks was shown and Ichabod couldn't believe it. Their entire midriffs were showing.

Abbie noticed him flailing in distress, "Cheerleaders, Crane. Don't ask me what they're there for, but those are their uniforms."

"They are wearing far less than even prostitutes," Crane said, crossing his arms and sitting up straighter, as if his own decorum could make up for their obvious lack. "Is this all football is?" If so, he had no idea why the Lieutenant enjoyed this sport at all.

"No, not at all. That's just for the guys," Abbie said. "Here's kickoff."

Ichabod turned back to the television, a blush still gracing his cheekbones. Those uniforms were far worse than yoga pants.

There were twenty two forms on the field on opposing sides of the pitch and in a moment they rushed together, and a small, eggish ball went flying.

"The team kicks it, other team catches, they try and get to the end zone—see there? It has the Patriots logo on it?—and then they get six points when they get there," Abbie said, pointing to the different scenes and they flashed across the screen.

"Oh my heavens! Are they barbarians?!" Ichabod said as the Jets kickoff team sacked the Patriots runningback. Abbie laughed, and Crane took a second to be upset at her ridicule. He knew it was all in jest, but no matter how long he had been there, he still felt different. Like he didn't belong. Every time he got confused by something simple, it struck him like a blow to the chest. The only balm was Abbie's laughter, and no matter how frustrated he felt, seeing her face light up in such a way that he normally didn't get to see brightened his entire day. If he could make her laugh like that once a day for the rest of his life, even at his own expense, he would be happy.

"What may I ask is so amusing, Miss Mills?" Ichabod said, frowning. Both of them knew he wasn't actually upset.

"That's part of the game, Crane. When you have the ball, the defense—the Jets, right now. In the green.—try and tackle the offense—the Patriots, red, white, and blue—so they can't move forward. You have four tries to get the ball ten yards. If you can't do it you kick it away so the other team has farther to go," Abbie said. "Easy peasy."

"But why must they hit each other? That's so uncivilized," Crane said, reaching for the popcorn bowl. Abbie handed it to him before turning down the volume on the game.

Abbie smiled again, showing off those perfect, white teeth of hers, "It's just a part of the game, Crane. Get over—go, go, yeah, good job Tom Brady!"

"Am I supposed to shout now, as well? I see no 'umpire' at whom to yell," Ichabod said, grasping at straws to find something he recognized. Abbie held out her fingers and shushed him as she watched the action play out on the screen. Ichabod crossed his arms and huffed out a breath. A simple be quiet would've sufficed.

Crane turned to the screen to see what had the Lieutenant so excited. A man threw the ball and another man caught it down the field, closer to the 'end zone'. This seemed to please Abbie as she began shouting again.

"You go Tom Brady," Abbie said, smiling, then she turned to Crane, brushing her fringe out of her eyes. "Sorry, first down throw, what were you asking about?"

"I was simply wondering," Crane said, trying his best not to sound like a petulant child whose mother wasn't giving him what he wanted. "What you were yelling about."

"Tom Brady made an awesome throw, his receiver caught it. Now we're in the red zone and we're almost guaranteed to score at least a field goal. Three points," Abbie said.

"Who is this Thomas Brady fellow you keep going on about?" Ichabod asked.

"He's the quarterback for the Patriots—the red, white, and blue team I'm cheering for—he's the one that throws the ball and leads the offense," Abbie said, pointing his tiny form out on the screen. He was thrown to the ground this time by a pack of enormous gentlemen in green.

"See, that's him," Abbie hit the pause button when a face came into the center of the screen. The man had blue eyes and a barely-there, scruffy beard. Numbers were being displayed by his head, advertising things such as PPG and Sacks. Ichabod didn't even bother asking about those. This "football" was far more confusing than the game of his youth, and much more violent. It was only when he turned back into the Lieutenant that he noticed she hadn't unpaused the game and was in fact 'rewinding' backward to see the short film of Thomas Brady and his accomplishments.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" Abbie said, before coming back to reality. She shook her head as if waking herself. "Just watching Tom Brady's highlight reel again. He is too man-pretty to be real."

Ichabod was confused. Pretty? Pretty was a term usually only applied to younger women and girls, but never a man. Was the Lieutenant trying to insinuate that Tom Brady was not masculine?

"Pretty, Lieutenant?" he said.

"Handsome, hot, good-looking," Abbie said. "The Pats get a lot of hate, but with a quarterback that attractive I have no idea why. Look at him!"

Tom Brady was now running with the ball, doing spins and jumping over other players. Ichabod was really impressed, but he had no idea this was what Abbie looked for in a man. Hadn't she just gotten over her betrothal to Mr. Morales?

"I am looking," Ichabod said, and Abbie gave him a look as if that wasn't what she was talking about. "But I don't understand what all the fuss is about Miss Mills."

"He's so tall, with that scruffy man-beard and those deep blue eyes of his," Abbie said, a wide smile breaking across her face. "A girl could be happy to spend the rest of her life just staring. And he's really athletic, and really kind. Smart, too. He could ask me to marry him right now and I'd say yes."

Tall, blue eyes, scruffy man-beard? Kind and smart? Aside from the scruffy part—Ichabod kept his facial hair well-kempt, thank you very much—it seemed as if the Lieutenant had just described himself. Ichabod saw his opportunity to poke some fun at his fellow Witness, so he ran with it.

"Miss Mills?"

"Yeah?" Abbie said, muting the television once again.

"Do you know anyone else who is tall, kind and intelligent, has blue eyes, and a 'scruffy man-beard'?" Ichabod asked. She took so much pleasure in seeing him confused, it was about time for some revenge.

"What are you getting at, Crane?" Abbie said, and he could see the gears turning in her head, figuring out what he was going for. She looked Ichabod up and down, and his back straightened involuntarily. Once the realization dawned in her eyes a blush dawned across her cheeks. She said, "I wasn't talking about you, Crane."

"Oh really?" Ichabod asked, teasing. "It sounds almost as if you were."

"I wasn't."

"Oh, but you really, really were. Would you like to rescind any of your prior statements, Miss Mills? Perhaps your offer of marriage? Or 'staring at him all day long?'" Ichabod grinned, "I'm sorry for distracting you with my man-prettiness during battles. Perhaps I could wear a mask?"

"I said he was nice and man-pretty Crane? Doesn't apply to you. Now lay off," Abbie snapped, turning off the television and walking away. He heard a door slam. What had begun as a joke was suddenly serious. He had offended the Lieutenant, and she in turn had lashed out at him. Ichabod prided himself on never being particularly vain, but to hear one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—and it caused him no pain to say this, the Lieutenant was beautiful. And smart, strong, and unwaveringly brave. The fact was as obvious as his name being Ichabod Crane or the sun rising in the east and setting in the west and Grace Abigail Mills was beautiful—saying he wasn't handsome scalded him a little. Even more so was how she had implied he wasn't kind, and that the very thought of him being similar to this fellow was abhorrent to her. Was he himself that detestable?

Ichabod stood and put on his great coat. He would go for a walk. It would give him some time to cool his emotions and perhaps for the Lieutenant to think about forgiving him for his transgressions. The autumn air was crisp around him and the moon was nowhere to be seen. He made a simple loop around the grounds, nothing extremely long, before he decided he must apologize to Miss Mills.

As soon as he opened the door, she was there, arms crossed, feet set.

"Crane," she said, taking a step toward him as he hung up his coat.

He took a deep breath before turning to face her. "Miss Mills, I most ardently apologize for my prior conduct. I was fishing for compliments you were not willing to give—"

"Crane, no, really. I'm sorry—" Abbie began, but he wouldn't let her apologize for something she had no reason to be sorry for.

"There is nothing for you to apologize for, Miss Mills. You made it obvious by your words and demeanor you were done with the subject but I persisted in pursing it. I am deeply sorry for offending you and by presuming you found me attractive and kind and intelligent, which I only claim one of those."

Abbie held up her hand. "It's really okay, Crane. You don't need to apologize. I freaked out over nothing and I shouldn't have. You just caught me off guard, and there's something I really need to tell you."

"It's perfectly fine you 'freaked out', Miss Mills. I was not acting like a gentleman should. If you are to tell me I should take my leave, I perfectly understand," Ichabod hoped that was not the case, but if that the Lieutenant had news, he couldn't think of anything else it would be. He was about to begin again when Abbie was right in front of him. She stood up on her toes and put her hands on his neck, pulling his face down to hers before pressing her lips to his.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. He had thought she was upset with him, about to kick him out, but here she is, kissing him! He then realized his eyes were wide open, his hands stock still at his side. Less than a second had passed before his mind realized he should respond. Ichabod settle his hands on her hips, pressing his mouth more firmly to hers. Abbie was warm beneath his hands, her lips softer than even Katrina's. When she pulled away, he immediately realized what had occurred. His face flushed bright red. Abbie stood before him, face flushed, mouth opening and closing, as if she couldn't believe what had just happened. He couldn't believe it either.

His fists opened at closed at his sides, fingers shaking. Ichabod couldn't bear to meet her eyes, "Miss Mills, I do apologize. That was very forward of me, and if I have insulted your honor, I do apologize, I—"

Abbie reached for his hand, and leaning up again to kiss his cheek. "Ichabod, you talk too much, did you know that?"

Ichabod was speechless, and a wide grin broke out across his face. Abbie was smiling too, and he held her hand even tighter, marveling at how perfectly her fingers felt between his own. As if they belonged there. "I'm beginning to realize, Abbie."

"Good," Abbie said, "Now how about we go finish off that popcorn?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it! For those of you following, leaving kudos, and commenting, THANK YOU SO MUCH. Seriously you guys make long days better :) I'll try and update again soon.
> 
> Best wishes!
> 
> Bliss
> 
> P.S. I was raised in a family that eat, sleeps, and breathes football (but we're not Pats fans, btw) as for cheerleaders, I have been a cheerleader since I was seven, so nothing against them, either.


	5. A Line of Verse, A Scrap of Rhyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod discovers a stash of old books and decides to read Abbie poetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you guys leaving kudos and comments THANK YOU SO MUCH. You make my long days shorter and make me smile every time I see the notification. Seriously, you rock my world :)
> 
> This idea came to me while I was doing some readings for a British Lit. class. It was tougher, though to find poetry Ichabod would know as most of the stuff we're studying is late 1770s or later, so I dug out some of my older textbooks and found the best I could. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Abbie and Ichabod belong to Sleepy Hollow. Sonnet 116 belongs to the Bard.

Abbie walked into Ichabod’s cabin with a few bags of groceries, making as much noise as possible in lieu of knocking.  
“Crane?” she called out. He emerged from within, carrying an armload of books.   
“Miss Mills,” he said. “Let me help you with those.” He set the books down on the coffee table and took two of the three bags.   
“I decided that since we have the day off, I might as well cook for you,” Abbie said, setting the bags on the countertop. “Steak, mashed potatoes, the good stuff. I’m even going to make apple pie.” She began taking out the ingredients. Crane hovered behind her, awaiting direction.  
“Well I am certainly glad to have you cook for me, Lieutenant. Though do not feel as if you need to,” Crane said. Abbie smiled. Leave it to him to insist to his last breath that he could manage by himself, thank you very much, even if he very much would rather not. At this point, his constant hovering felt more comforting than restrictive.  
“Don’t worry. I already had the stuff, and didn’t want to waste the effort if I was eating alone,” she said. Abbie opened the bag of potatoes and began peeling them into the sink. Crane eyed her hands wearily as she worked with a bare paring knife. He knew well enough not to say a word. “I can handle cooking, Crane. I promise. I survived God-knows how many years without you hovering like a helicopter mom.”  
“Gibberish,” Crane humphed, backing off just a little bit.   
Abbie laughed. “What’s that pile of books over there? Research?”  
“No, but just as valuable. I discovered a hidden treasure trove,” Ichabod said, walking to his mountain of books. “Corbin had amassed a large collection of classical literature.”  
“Lord help me,” Abbie said. Potatoes plopped into a pot of water.  
“I heard that,” Ichabod said. Abbie grinned. “Paradise Lost, King Lear, Doctor Faustus, some books of poetry from young fellows, up and coming when I died, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats. Even a complete volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets and other poetry.”  
“Where’d you find them?” she was almost afraid to know. Maybe Corbin had bodies hidden somewhere at this rate. How many secret compartments did one cabin in the woods really need?  
“The attic.”  
“I told you not to go there, Crane,” Abbie said, stopping her meal preparations to meet his eyes and point her knife at him. “It’s dangerous, could’ve collapsed beneath you.”  
“Pish posh,” Ichabod said, leafing through a few of the older looking volumes. “If it was holding the weights of all of these books, I was not overly concerned about my own safety.”  
Abbie snorted.  
“Regardless,” he continued. “It will give me something to do when I am not researching. I did love reading, and new poetry is always entertaining.”  
“Sure it is,” Abbie said, setting the pot of potatoes on the stove to boil. “Reading Romeo and Juliet in high school was one of the most boring parts of my life.”  
“Then you are not reading poetry correctly,” Ichabod said, selecting a thin book out of the pile, before advancing back toward her. “Back in my time, poetry was the only thing to read. Novels were for the uneducated, the idle. Those with intelligence and any social status at all read poetry.”  
“So only the snooty people read it?” Abbie said. When he frowned she knew she had succeeded in irking him.  
“We read poetry because poetry is good.”  
“I still don’t believe you,” Abbie said, washing her hands and throwing away the potato peels.  
“I will show you then,” Ichabod said, holding his hand out. Abbie sighed, and grabbed his hand. He tried to hold back a smile, but didn’t succeed. Ichabod opened the front door and ushered her through onto the front porch where there was a magnificent view of the sunset over the pond.  
“Why are we going outside?” Abbie asked sitting down next to Ichabod on the front stoop.  
“You cannot properly enjoy verse unless out in nature,” he said.  
“Sure,” Abbie said, brushing her hair out of her face. Was he really going to read her poetry? What were you supposed to do? Smile at them? Anxiety churned in her stomach, and she tried to push it down. How could she be nervous when Ichabod still held her tiny hand in his? How many demons had they faced in exactly this position?  
“Surely one of your beaus has read you poetry before? Maybe Mr. Morales?” Ichabod asked, leafing through the book with one hand, turning the vellum pages carefully.  
“No, of course not,” Abbie said, laughing. “That’s not a thing anymore.”  
“What? How do you court, then?” Ichabod asked, utterly scandalized.  
Abbie shrugged, blushing a little, “I don’t know. Texting, talking. Boxes of chocolate.” As if a guy she dated would ever buy her chocolate.  
“How utterly barbaric,” Ichabod said. “Every woman deserves to be read poetry, especially you, Miss Mills.” His tone softened near the end, and his small smile, his use of her first name, nearly melted her.  
“Well get on with it,” Abbie said, swallowing past a lump in her throat. Don’t blush. Don’t blush.   
“Shakespeare’s 116th sonnet. For you, Abbie,” Ichabod said, letting go of her hand at last. She felt the absence keenly, and she shut that part of her brain up. It’s just a guy reading from a book. That’s what she told herself at least, but then he began to read.   
“'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,'” Ichabod read, looking at Abbie as he paused. His deep blue eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t help but smile. No one had ever read poetry to her, not even a teacher, let alone a boyfriend. Especially not Shakespeare. Definitely not a sonnet. Absolutely not a love sonnet.  
Ichabod’s voice came from low in his chest, almost caressing the words as they came out. With his stupid, perfect British accent, she could almost think herself to be the kind of woman a man would write sonnets about. “'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken,'”   
“'It is the star to every wand’ring bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken,'” He grinned at her. “Hopefully not your height, Miss Mills. I’m afraid you would be too small.”  
She smacked him on the shoulder. “Just keep reading.”  
“If the lady wishes,” he said, and looked back down to the worn vellum page. “'Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.'”  
Abbie reached for the hand not holding the book and squeezed his fingers.   
“'If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.'”  
A moment of silence passed once he read the couplet at the end. Abbie didn’t know what to say, so she decided to keep her mouth shut. Didn’t want to embarrass herself by crying.  
“That is how you court a lady,” Ichabod said. She hoped she hadn’t imagined the low, husky note to his voice, because no way could she be the only one feeling as if she could fly right now. Or cry.  
“Thank you, Ichabod,” Abbie said, leaning her head against his shoulder. The sun hung low and fat in the dusky orange sky, and Abbie couldn’t hear a thing save the water lapping quietly at the shore and their breathing.   
Abbie never even had a guy write her even a note, let alone read her poetry. But when Ichabod closed the old volume of verse and leaned his head against hers, his thumb stroking the top of her hand, she could almost get used to being read poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys liked that one as I had a lot of fun writing it! If you have suggestions or would like me to work on a prompt, just let me know!  
> Best wishes!  
> Bliss


	6. He's Coming For Your Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after The Golem. Abbie reacts to the prophecy of Moloch coming for her soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL WHO ARE LEAVING REVIEWS AND KUDOS. Seriously, you guys make my day :)  
> Sorry this update took so long. It's been a super crazy week class-wise, and next week won't be better (two exams ten minutes apart in my two hardest classes). So leave a nice long critique to carry me through? ;)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

Ichabod was back in his bedroom, doing who the hell knows what.  Abbie didn’t much care at this point.  She was doing dishes in her kitchen, hands shaking under the soapy water.  Couldn’t let Crane see them shake.  She had tried so hard to make sure he wouldn’t see her break down when it happened.

He had looked so scared himself.  When she came back with bags of takeout and saw him lying on the floor, she didn’t quite know what to think.  That he had been struck down by some holy fire? That Andy had come? Or something more mundane like a cock fight with Luke? (though that one was less feasible, Ichabod could handle himself against Luke)

At least he’s still alive and breathing, she had thought.  When she put her arms around him, she never anticipated what would come out of his mouth.

_Moloch. He’s coming for your soul.  He says I will deliver it to him._

Then, she had brushed it off, or gave the appearance of it.  Ichabod’s nerves had been too frayed already.  He seemed ever more scared of the idea than her.  At least that’s what she hoped it looked like.

Abbie had stood, pulling him up with her.  She hugged him, telling him it would be okay,and that she didn’t really believe a demon.  Why should he? Lord of Lies and all that.  Then Abbie grabbed their food off the ground, thankfully still sealed in the containers before herding him into the car and driving them home.

He didn’t say anything the entire drive, just looked down at his hands. It stopped him from seeing her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.   When she put the car in park, he got out and opened her door for her like usual.  This time, though, he kept hold of her hand and looked her straight in the eyes.

“Lieutenant,” he said.  “I swear on my own immortal soul that I will never let what has been prophesied come to fruition.”

Abbie had never seen his blue eyes look so serious, and she cupped his palm in between her hands.  “It’s okay, Crane,” she had said, feeling like she had to vomit.  “I believe you.”

They had then proceeded inside where he immediately went to his room and she decided that the only way to stop her hands from shaking was to do something with them.  It hadn’t worked.  

When she ran out of dirty things, she turned off the water and pulled the plug out of the drain.  Abbie put her hands on the counter as she watched the water swirl down the sink.

Sighing, she turned to the rack of drying dishes.  Taking a few plates, she wiped them with the dish towel--printed with the Union Jack, she had gotten them for Ichabod as a joke--before putting them back in the cabinet.  They clattered against each other and Abbie tried to ignore her still quivering fingers.  If she just worked through it, everything would be okay.  If she denied what she had heard, she wouldn’t flinch, mentally or otherwise, every time she looked at Crane.

Abbie knew she relied on Ichabod far more than he relied on her (aside from simple things like money and 21st Century things), especially with things pertaining to demons and navigating the apocalypse.  It wasn’t really that hard for her to believe that, given the choice, Crane would hand her soul away to the highest bidder.  Moloch had his wife, whom he had loved long past the “‘til death do us part” clause in their marriage vows.  If Moloch dangled Katrina in his face and said it was either her or Abbie?  Well, Abbie wasn’t naive enough to think that he wouldn’t let her go without a second thought.

This realization brought an even stronger tremor through her, and the chef’s knife she had been drying slipped and sliced cleanly through the meaty part of her palm.  She gasped and dropped the knife, making a large clanging noise when it fell.  Blood welled in the deep cut before spilling through her fingers and dripping onto the white-tiled floor of her kitchen.  Abbie stared at her palm for another moment before pressing the towel into her hand, holding her arm up high to stop the bleeding.  The first-aid kit was in a cabinet above the fridge, where she couldn’t get to it without grabbing a stepstool or climbing onto the counter, neither of which she could do one-handed.

“Goddammit,” she yelled, kicking the counter as hard as she could.  Maybe the pain in her foot would take away from the gash in her hand.  It didn’t.

Abbie collapsed to the floor and began to cry.  What could she do right?  Her soul would end up in Moloch’s hands, given to him by her best friend (more than friend) and here she couldn’t even wash the fucking _dishes_ correctly.  Couldn’t get her own damned first-aid kit.  Couldn’t plan ahead and think _man if I’m injured maybe I won’t be able to climb that high and I should put this somewhere I can reach._

Footsteps sounded behind her and Ichabod sucked in a breath.  “Miss _Mills_?”

She could imagine the scene he had just walked in on.  Open cabinets and drawers from where she had been putting away the dishes, a bloody knife on the floor with streaks of crimson all across the tile, and Abbie, curled into a ball on the ground, sobbing and holding a red-stained towel to her hand.

Suddenly, he was in front of her, “Lieutenant? Are you alright? What happened?” his voice sounded frenetic, dripping with worry.  He reached out for her wrist.   She flinched away.

“I’m--fine--,” she said in between sobs.  Abbie need to get control of herself, and the very person she was having an anxiety attack about was crouched in front of her.

“You’re obviously not, Miss Mills,” Ichabod said, grasping for her wrist again.  He took it even though she inched away again.  He took the towel out of her hand, making a low keen of disapproval in the back of his throat.  All Abbie could see was how his long fingers overlapped around her thin wrist.  How easily he could overpower her if he wanted to.

“Where is a telephone?” he asked, keeping his voice low and even.  He didn’t look her in the eye.

“Don’t call 911, Crane,” Abbie said.  At least she had gotten herself to a point where she could speak, even if the stupid waterworks just wouldn’t quit.

“Then where are your medical supplies?” he said, opening cabinet after cabinet, the doors swinging opened and closed faster than she could see.

“I’m fine, okay? Just go back to whatever you were doing,” Abbie said, taking the towel back into her hand and pressing.

Ichabod whirled around and lowered himself to her level.  He was angry now, not worried, or anxious.  “You are not fine, Abigail.  If you do not tell me where your medical supplies are in the next five seconds, I am calling 911 whether you like it or not.”

Abbie took a breath.  How had everything ended up like this?

“Five,” Ichabod said, staring her down. “Four.”

“Cabinet above the refrigerator,” she said.  He immediately turned and without even going on his tiptoes, reached into the cabinet and grabbed her first aid kit.  Ichabod set it down in front of her, and she took it, attempting to open the top one-handed.  Damn clasps wouldn’t open.  She wiped her still-streaming eyes on her sleeve.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Crane said.  He was getting frustrated with her, but she couldn’t care less.

“I’m trying to get this cut taken care of.”

“Let me help you,” he said, and despite her protests took the kit out of her hands and opened it.  “Are you going to tell me what happened? And why you are acting so bull-headed?”

Ichabod took the hydrogen peroxide and poured some on a cotton ball.  He removed the towel and daubed the soaked cotton ball along the wound.  Abbie was prepared for the sting, but still hissed when the peroxide got on her skin.

“Sorry,” Ichabod said, glancing up at her.  She had stopped crying, but her breathing was still a little shaky.  Being around him didn’t help. _Moloch.  He’s coming for your soul.  He says I will deliver it to him._

She watched as he thoroughly washed her wound before putting on some antibiotic cream and closed the edges with butterfly bandages.  He covered the bandages with gauze and wrapped medical tape around her palm.

“Now your hand is almost as big as mine,” he said, chancing a grin.  Abbie didn’t respond, just stood and began cleaning up the mess. _Moloch._

“Miss Mills,” Ichabod said from behind her.  “Please just tell me what happened.” _He’s coming for your soul._

Abbie threw away the wrappers from the medical supplies and took some bleach from beneath the sink.  She sprayed some on the floor and wiped away the spots of blood on the floor and smears on the cabinet handles. “I was putting away the dishes, grabbed the wrong end of the knife.  Cut my hand.  I couldn’t reach the med kit and got frustrated.  That’s it.”

 The Union Jack towel got tossed into the dirty clothes basket, the knife got quickly re-washed and put away.

“If that was it, Lieutenant,” Ichabod said, coming up behind her shoulder as she closed the last drawer.  “Then I would not have found you sobbing on the floor.”

He set his hand on her shoulder and she jerked away.

“Why do you refuse to look at me? Talk to me, Lieutenant?  I’m sorry if my demeanor tonight has been too forward.  I apologize--” _He says I will deliver it to him._

“It’s nothing, just leave me alone, okay?” Abbie snapped.  All she wanted was a long nap and some time to think about what happened today, and how her best friend was going to deliver her soul to a demon.  She didn’t want to be standing there talking to him.

“What have I done to offend you so?” Ichabod said.  Abbie didn’t dare to look in his face, and walked away toward the couch in the living room.  “Miss Mills?”

“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you will do,” She said before throwing herself onto the couch cushions..

Ichabod walked in front of her, arms crossed behind his back.  His face was too easily readable.  Confusion, frustration, anger.  “What do you mean?”

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t,” Abbie said.  She looked at his patch-up job, and was suddenly glad she had taught him some first aid basics.

Ichabod swung his fists to his sides.  “If I did, Lieutenant, would I be asking?”

“Fine, you want to know what’s up?” she said, standing and going nose to nose.  Well, more like nose-to-chest, with him.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he replied evenly.

“What’s up is knowing that _you_ , the _only_ person left in this world that I trust are going to give my soul to Moloch.  Now can you just leave. Me. Alone.” Abbie said, voice raising until she was nearly screaming at the end.

Ichabod’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.  Abbie got up and walked away, but Ichabod put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back, holding her close to his chest.  She fought him, trying to get away, but his arms were like iron bars around her back.

“Abbie, I am so, so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “If I hadn’t been so vain, maybe I could have seen how this message affected you.  Just know that I would rather be sent to the grave in the most painful way possible a thousand, thousand times over than even entertain the thought of betraying you.” She hadn’t realized but she was crying again.  How could she have doubted him? Let a demon for God’s sake come between them?  Her tears stained the thin, off-white material of his shirt but he didn’t seem to mind.  He just kept petting her hair, and whispering sorry again and again.

Minutes passed, and Abbie’s tears slowly ran out.

“Sorry to freak out on you,” Abbie said, sniffing.

Ichabod pressed a kiss to her forehead, “It is already forgotten.  Now how about we watch on of those ‘movies’ of yours?”

“Okay,” Abbie said, smiling.  Abbie picked a movie at random, and put in the disk.  She sat on the opposite side of the couch from Ichabod as was the norm, but he took her hand with a smile.  Before long, she was curled up next to him, his arm around her shoulders.  She wasn’t afraid anymore, and fell asleep laying on Ichabod’s shoulder, him petting her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it! Please leave a comment telling me what you liked/how I can improve/prompts :)  
> Best wishes!  
> Bliss


	7. Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod and Abbie celebrate the fourth of July, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m going to apologize now for such a long break between updates. It was a mixture of my muse being almost wholly absent and a bunch of deadlines smacking me in the face (study abroad applications, scholarships, my two exams, work, etc.). This chapter is going to be a two-parter, with the second part being up hopefully by the end of the week.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who leaves me comments and follows this story. You guys rock. Seriously J
> 
> Now on to the story!

“Miss Mills,” Ichabod said, trailing behind Abbie while pushing the cart with the groceries.  “Why are we getting this much alcohol?  And ‘hot dogs’?”

Abbie grabbed a bag of ‘Jumbo Jet-Puffed Marshmallows’ and set them in the cart.  “It’s almost the fourth of July.”

“Yes, I had realized that when I glanced at the calendar this morning, Lieutenant,” he said raising an eyebrow.  Ichabod watched the Lieutenant go past a wall of what appeared to be different kinds of crisps.  The labels were so foreign to him, brightly coloured with words he didn’t wholly understand, and was it really necessary for a whole _wall_ of crisps?  How many could there be?  _Flip-sides!  No Sodium Saltines! Goldfish! Cheez-nips_ —“Miss Mills, what is so special about this _K_?”

Abbie selected a box of graham crackers (he only hoped they were more appealing than the crackers of the same name from his youth) and added them to their cart. “Just  a brand.  Low-cal, Gluten-free stuff, to help you with your diet.”

“Gibberish, everything you just said was gibberish,” Ichabod said.  “And I still don’t understand why we are purchasing all of this inane foodstuffs.”

Abbie looked back and him and brushed some dark hair out of her face.  “It’s tradition, Ichabod.  You get a fire going, cook up some hot dogs, eat some really bad-for-you stuff.  Drink beer.  Eat s’mores—I’ll explain those when we get to them,” she said with a smile.  Abbie certainly was getting better at noticing when he was set adrift in her sea of words.  “Then you watch fireworks.  How else are you supposed to celebrate the birth of our nation than with explosives?”

He didn’t even want to touch that sentence.  Everything would be explained in due time, he thought.  If not, he made a mental note to ask Abbie again later.  After antoher moment, she steered him toward the front entrance of the grocery store.  “I still don’t understand why you use the signing of the Declaration as the date of your nation’s birth,” Ichabod said.  “It was signed over many days.  Shouldn’t you use the _winning_ of the war as the date?”

“I don’t know,” Abbie said.   “Just the way it is.  Why do you celebrate the moment you are born as your birthday?  Shouldn’t you start counting your age from when you were conceived?”

“Touché,” Ichabod said. Abbie smirked.

“Anyway, speaking of birthdays, isn’t yours coming up soon?  As in the fourth of July?”

Ichabod chuckled.  “Yes, it is.  Quite a coincidence how that happened, isn’t it?”

“Coincidence, or fate?” Abbie said, looking him straight in the eye, cocky grin gracing her wide lips.  He felt a blush rush to his cheeks.  “I mean, aren’t you mister ‘I choose to forge my fate with you?’”

Ichabod nearly choked and had to take a moment to cough and regain his composure.  “I beg your pardon, Miss Mills?”

“You’re forgiven,” she said, laughing.  She was laughing at him!  For basically saying he _lov—_ “Anyway, let’s check out and get out of here, yeah?”

He was still dumbstruck, blush high on his cheeks.  What was he thinking? When had this shopping trip gotten so out of hand?  Ichabod followed Abbie to the front of the store, helping her unload the cart onto the ‘conveyor belt’ apparatus.

“Oh, damn it, I forgot something,” Abbie said, smacking her forehead. 

Ichabod looked up at her.  “I can go retrieve it for you, Lieutenant.”

Abbie waved her hands about.  “No, no.  It’s fine.  I’ll go get it, you just wait here.  I’ll be right back.”

Before he could protest, Abbie was off, trotting quickly through the store.  Ichabod turned to see the older woman working the cash register giving him a knowing smile.  He nodded at her, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels.  Moments passed in silence.  _What could possibly be taking so long?_

“Your girlfriend is quite the spitfire,” the woman at the register said, winking at him.  Ichabod swallowed hard.

“She is not my _girlfriend_ ,” Ichabod said, trying his best not to sputter.  “We are merely _friends._ _”_

The woman frowned, “Oh, I’m sorry dear.  I didn’t realize you are of the opposite persuasion—my granddaughter’s that way as well, she has a lovely girlfriend—“

“Back,” Abbie said, setting down an armful of goods Ichabod was too flustered to get an eye of.  “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing,” Ichabod said quickly, “Absolutely nothing.”

***

“I told you, I have lighter fluid and matches, Crane,” Abbie said, her hand on her jutted hip, rubbing her forehead.

“That is no way to start a fire, Miss Mills.  It will only take me a few moments to do it the proper way.” Ichabod said, using some steel and flint to hit sparks into a pile of kindling.  Before long, he had a pretty little blaze going.  “There, what did I tell you, Miss Mills?”

She shoved his shoulder, and he grinned just a little wider.  “Whatever, the fire’s lit.  Let’s break out the hot dogs and beer.”

Abbe got up off the log they shared and opened the big, _plastic_ (honestly, why was this blasted plastic in everything now?) ‘cooler’ and emerged with a package of hot dogs and two skewers.  She prepared his for him, slicing open the package with a small knife she kept in her back pocket and handed him the skewer to roast it. 

“Keep it over the coals, not the actual fire.  We don’t want any flaming hot dogs,” Abbie said.  She turned away from him, and Ichabod held the long metal skewer over the reddened coals of the fire.  Abbie cracked open a beer and took a sip.

“I should hope that I know enough not to set a wiener aflame,” Ichabod said with a hint of a pompous sniff.  He would’ve gone into a lecture on how he had been cooking food over a fire for years if it weren’t for the fact that Abbie had choked on her beer, sending it up through her nose.  She sat there trying her best not to laugh and failing. 

Ichabod didn’t know what to do, so he sat down his poker on the log and looked to the Lieutenant.  He patted her back a few times in hopes that it would help her swallow or perhaps breathe, and he was getting a bit worried about the chance of her suffocating when her cheeks were turning redder and redder.  “Miss Mills, are you quite alright?”­

Abbie sucked in a deep breath.  “I’m fine.  I’m fine.  Just—just don’t say that again, okay?”

“Say what?”

“Nevermind.”

“How am I supposed to refrain from whatever you don’t want me to say unless—“

“Drop it.  C’mon our hot dogs are getting cold.”

Ichabod decided to follow her instructions to _drop it_ and they finished roasting their hot dogs.  They ate them in companionable conversation, sipping their beers all the while.  He had to admit, he much preferred the smooth taste of Abbie’s beer to the more woodsy, fermented taste of the ale he was accustomed to.  Before long, they were roasting marshmallows over the fire, and Abbie sandwiched them between two graham crackers—much sweeter and leagues more appetizing than the Graham crackers of his youth, those which aimed to keep teenage boy’s attention where it should, and not on pretty girls—and a square of chocolate.

“Miss Mills, I must admit, this is simply heaven,” Ichabod sighed after swallowing his first mouthful.

“It’s pretty hard to mess up a s’more,” Abbie said, using a long stick to poke the fire.  “Anyway, the fireworks should be starting any minute now.”

Ichabod finished his s’more (he’d have to ask her where such a strange word came from at a later date) and peered out over the water.  Far in the distance he could see a barge and various campfires dotted the countryside.

“What are these ‘fireworks?’” he asked. 

“You’ll see,” Abbie said, leaning back in her Adirondack chair.  She tapped the screen of her phone and it alit with the time and date.  “In exactly one minute.  It’s 8:59.”

He could hold his curiosity that long.  Ichabod tried to slouch the way Abbie did, as if he didn’t have a care in the world anymore, and to just enjoy the night.  In the distance he could hear the thrumming beat of the noise that counted as music now, but that was far enough off he could ignore it.  Their fire crackled merrily, warding off any chance of chill.  Here and there fireflies lit the night.  Ichabod was just about to say something to Abbie about how peaceful the night air was when he heard a low _fwwwpshh_.  A spume of flame went up through the air before going out.  A mere moment passed and an enormous boom like cannon fire sounded and a ball of expanding red, silver, and blue sparks shone down to the water. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, Ichabod had hurled himself out of his chair and onto Miss Mills, throwing her to the ground and covering her body from his.  It wasn’t much protection but she might survive the onslaught with a bit less damage, if she even lived.

That is, if she would stop wriggling beneath him.

“What in the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!”Abbie said, punching his arm until he let go.  She stood up and began brushing herself off, giving him a dirty look.

Another boom sounded, and Abbie didn’t look phased.  He, however, tried to get her under cover.  “Lieutenant, do you not hear the explosions? You must _get down_.  Hurry!”

A look of confusion crossed her face as she batted his hand away, and then she burst out laughing.  His mouth hung open.  “Why are you laughing at me?”

“You—you thought—oh my God—“

“I’m glad you find my terror so humorous,” Ichabod said, standing and wiping himself down.  He tried not to flinch when another shockwave reached his ears.

Abbie breathed deeply for a few moments.  “Those are fireworks, Crane.  Controlled explosions.  High in the sky.  They can’t hurt anyone.”

“But the noise—“

“Is part of the fun, it’s okay.  Just sit down, chill, and enjoy the pretty colors, and I’ll forget you assaulted me,” Abbie said, a wide grin breaking across her face.

“I did _not_ —“ Ichabod began, but Abbie wasn’t paying attention.  She was back in her chair, sipping her beer that had miraculously escaped being spilled.  He huffed, and relaxed back into his own chair.  When his heart stopped racing after each explosion, he could admit it was astoundingly miraculous.  The patterns the explosions formed in the sky were amazing.  Some of them drooped to the ground like weeping willows in long strands of silver, others had wandering sparks of gold and blue spinning through the night sky like whirligigs.  His favorite though, was the one that made the face of a colon closed parenthesis.  He pointed it out to the Lieutenant, and she gave him one of her soft smiles and called it a _smiley face_. 

When the finale came with a near continuous stream of sparks, bangs, and booms, he was sad to see it end now that he could properly enjoy it without fearing for his life.

“That was simply fantastical,” Ichabod said when the last spark fizzed out, turning to Abbie.  She nodded and raised her beer can.

“Happy Birthday, America,” she said, grinning wide at him.

“Happy Birthday, indeed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you guys liked it. It’s kind of rough, as I didn’t really edit it the way I usually do, because I wanted to get it out faster. Please comment and tell me what I can do better or to tell me something you liked!
> 
> Best wishes!
> 
> Bliss


	8. Happy Birthday Ichabod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of "Fourth of July". Abbie helps Ichabod celebrate his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Sunday counts as the end of the week yes? Yes. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as I had a lot of fun writing it. Birthday fun for everyone! 
> 
> Also, to the guest that left the comment about my historical inaccuracy, I apologize. I rushed that chapter and didn’t do the research I normally do, so thanks for informing me!
> 
> As always, please comment and tell me what I can do better!

Abbie put out the fire with some help from Ichabod, pouring water from the pond on the red embers, then shoveling some dirt on top.  They worked quietly, Ichabod all talked out.  Maybe she should’ve tuned into that cheesy radio station that plays all of the cheesy patriotic music.  She’d have to ask for next year.

Next year. 

It was weird to think about a year from now, how they would only be two years into their seven year journey.  Eternity had already passed in Abbie’s mind, and she couldn’t imagine a world without Crane in her life.

“Are you alright, Miss Mills?” Ichabod asked, placing the shovel back into the small shed beside the cabin. 

Abbie looked up at him.  ‘Oh, yeah.  Fine,” she ushered him toward the house, hoping he would like the surprise.  Everyone liked surprises, right?  Even two-hundred-and-fifty year old tall, dark, and British men?  “C’mere, Crane.”

“Is something amiss?” he asked, walking up to her quickly, his cheeks turning a little bit pink.  It must be the beer.  That’s what she would convince herself at least.

“Nothing, just close your eyes,” Abbie said, stopping him in front of the door.

“Why must I close—“

“Just do it, and don’t open them until I say so,” Abbie said.  He looked down his long nose at her.  Something akin to honest affection crossed his face before he rolled his eyes and sighed.

“If I lose my footing or you lead me into a pole, I am never trusting you again, Lieutenant,” Ichabod said sternly before closing his eyes.

“Noted,” Abbie said.  She then took his offered hand and held the door open while he walked through.  She would never be able to get over how _large_ his hand was.  His fingers nearly covered her entire hand, and she had to reach her arm up a little bit just to make sure she wasn’t pulling on his shoulder.  Abbie knew she was small, knew it every single day of the police academy where she was dwarfed by pretty much everyone else.  But it wasn’t until she had to work with a giant like Ichabod Crane that she truly realized just how small she really was. 

She deftly made her way through the house, steering Crane around chairs and end tables.  There was a close call with one of the throw rugs and a loose nail, but before long, she was pulling out a chair.

“There’s a chair right behind you.  Sit down, please,” Abbie said, releasing Crane’s hand.

“What is this all about, Lieutenant?” Ichabod said, sitting down in the chair as if he had already known it was there.

“Eyes closed,” Abbie said when he began to twitch.  “You’ll see in just a second, okay?  Just hold on.”

She made her way into the kitchen before grabbing the platter with the cake on it, frosted as well as she could manage—which wasn’t very well, but she figured the thought was what really mattered—with _Happy Birthday Ichabod!_ piped on in red, white, and blue.  She set the plate down carefully, and she saw Crane’s eyelids flutter.  She then went to her bag and brought out the small wrapped package in it and sat the bundle next to the cake.  Abbie lit the candles—she just had a few, because how many should she really put?—and turned on the lights.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now, Crane.”

He opened his eyes and a look of confusion crossed his face, then delight.

“Happy Birthday, Crane,” she said.

“Did you do this for me, Miss Mills?” he asked, staring intently at her with a wide smile across his handsome face.

Abbie hoped the dim lighting of the cabin was enough to mask her blush.  “It’s your birthday, so I made you a birthday cake.  It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m very thankful you thought of me,” Ichabod said, and the earnestness in his voice threw her off.  How was she supposed to remind herself he was married when he kept pulling stunts like this?

“You’re welcome, now c’mon, blow out the candles before wax gets all over the frosting,” Abbie said.  “And don’t forget to make a wish.”

He gave her a cheeky grin, and then paused for a moment, as if thinking of what to wish for.  Then he blew out the candles in one breath.

Abbie cut them both slices, serving his favorite ice cream—mint chocolate chip—on the side.  He kept saying thank you over and over again, and she got more and more flustered each time.

“Open your present now, Crane,” she said to stop his constant litany of gratitude.

“You got me a gift?” he said, noticing the small rectangular box for the very first time.  “You really didn’t have to, Lieutenant.  The cake is already too much.”

“You can’t have a birthday without a present, now shut up and open it, and don’t you dare think of unfolding the paper.  I bought it so you could rip it to shreds,” Abbie said, wagging her fork at him.

He rolled his eyes, “How utterly barbaric,” but he tore the paper anyway and with tentative fingers lifted the lid of the box.  He withdrew the two tickets and looked at her inquisitively.

“I give you my thanks, Miss Mills, but what are these _Yankees_? I doubt it is what I’m thinking of.”

Abbie laughed, and set down her fork.  “They’re a professional baseball team in New York.  I thought I’d finally take you to go and see one of their home games like I’ve been promising for basically forever.”

Ichabod set them back in the box.  “Thank you, Lieutenant, but this is too much.  I can’t possibly accept.”

“Oh, whatever.  It’s a gift for me too, so don’t feel bad.  I haven’t seen the Yanks at the stadium in forever,” Abbie said in response to his puppy dog eyes.

“Regardless, I am eternally grateful,” he said taking hold of her hand again.

She nudged his shoulder.  “Always.  Now, what do you want to do the rest of the night?  Birthday boy gets to choose.”

“How about we watch the film adaption of that marvelous novel _Pride and Prejudice_.  You own it, correct?” Ichabod said, helping her carry their dishes back into the kitchen.

Abbie grinned.  “Somehow I knew you’d want to watch that.  C’mon, I already have it in the DVD player.”

She and Crane settled on the couch, sitting side by side, having forgone at least that level of propriety a long time ago.  The movie began and Abbie felt an arm wrap around her shoulder.  Ichabod squeezed her in a sideways hug and rested his cheek on her head.

“What did you wish for?” Abbie asked, settling her head in the crook of his neck.  She was almost scared to know the answer.  It probably involved Katrina.  “Actually, don’t tell me.  If you say the wish, it won’t come true.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Abbie.  My wish has already been granted,” he said, low voice rumbling from his chest.  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and fell silent.

Why couldn’t every day be the fourth of July.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hope you guys liked it! Please leave a comment to tell me what I can do better!
> 
> Best wishes!
> 
> Bliss


	9. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie gets sick and Ichabod gets to play nursemaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has left comments, kudos, etc. THANK YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK. You guys rock!! Sorry for the super duper late update, but if you're reading this, doubly thank you for sticking with me. My reasons for this being late are on my profile.  
> This chapter is double the length of the usual ones, so I hope that makes up for it a little bit.  
> Hope you all enjoy!

The first time Abbie let out a single sneeze, Ichabod immediately said, “Are you quite all right, Miss Mills?”

Abbie laughed away his distress, “I’m fine, Crane, just a sneeze.”

“Are you sure you’re not ill?” He looked so concerned, blue eyes focused worriedly on her face.

“Absolutely, now let’s get back to work.” Abbie bent back over the book she was scanning and didn’t think of it again.

The next morning, after she had slapped the off button on her alarm, Abbie immediately knew she was sick. Her sinuses were so congested she could hardly breathe, she wheezed as air came in and out of her lungs. When she swallowed, it felt as if knives were being scraped down her trachea. _Goddammit_. Crane was right.

She stood and got out of bed, limbs leaden and slow. First she went to the kitchen to find some cold medicine. In the back of her cabinet, she found a grand total of two cough drops, an empty bottle of Nyquil, and a packet of daytime cold medicine. Abbie didn’t even have the energy to swear.

“Guess I’m going to have to make a run to the store after all,” she said, immediately regretting the decision to vocalize her frustration.   Talking was making her throat worse.  Brushing her teeth, shower, then some hot tea were required, in that order. Abbie took a glass from the sink’s drying rack, turned on the tap and popped the two pills left to her.

While she brushed her teeth, she noticed how ashen she looked, bags were under her eyes, and her nose was red and swollen. How could this have set in so quickly? Abbie rarely got sick, but when she did, it was an ordeal. She’d make it though, she always made it. Crane was going to be an obstacle though, she thought while turning the knob in her bathtub. His _I-told-you-so_ face was clear in her mind, and she was not looking forward to seeing it in real time.

After her shower, Abbie felt marginally more like a human being, and some air was getting through her nose. Robe on, hair up in a towel wrap, she got out her phone and texted Irving.

_Won’t be coming in today, Cap. I’m using some of my sick days. If there’s an emergency, for God’s sake call someone else._

She promptly got an _okay_ in response, and started brewing some lemon tea. Thank God her selection of caffeinated beverages was more stocked than her alleged medicine cabinet. Once the tea was good, hot, and strong, with more honey than was probably feasible, she unlocked her phone again, and thought of what to tell Crane. She couldn’t outright say she was sick. He would overreact as per usual, but she couldn’t make up an excuse like another case; he would almost definitely want to come along.

She ended up texting him _Don’t worry about work today, just get some R &R_.

He could figure out her colloquialism, she was sure. After that, tea finished and head still throbbing, she let down her hair, tugging a comb through it quickly. Thankfully, her comfiest fleece pajama bottoms were clean and her oversized _New York Mets_ t-shirt was lying out on her bed. Both were thrown on promptly and she collapsed into bed, not even bothering to turn out the light.

She was awoken by a shout of “Thank heavens!” and a very large, very warm hand settling on her shoulder.

“Miss Mills? Lieutenant?” he shook her shoulder gently, and she opened her eyes to a distressed Ichabod Crane looming over her. She groaned, and rolled over.

“Why is your hand so _hot_?” she croaked, curling up into the fetal position.

Ichabod came around to the other side of her bed, clenching and unclenching his fists fretfully. “It is not my hand that is over-warm, Lieutenant. I believe you have a fever.”

She let out a low moan, and closed her eyes, one arm flung over her face. Abbie could hear him pacing around the edges of her bed and his worried blue eyes bored holes into her. She moved her arms.

“God _damn_ , Crane, can you stop orbiting and sit on the bed or something?”

“It wouldn’t be proper--”

Abbie let out an exasperated sigh, closing her eyes. Why was it so bright in her room? “Then just _leave.”_ Her voice came out more vehement than she had intended, and she knew she wasn’t being fair. Abbie didn’t know why Crane had come, but he was only trying to help.

She was just about to open her mouth and apologize, telling him to come back in when she felt a weight settle on the bed. The warm hand returned to her shoulders and rubbed soothing circles over her sore muscles. They stayed there for a moment, neither one speaking, with Crane rubbing her back quietly.

“Please, Lieutenant,” he said, voice low, an almost rumble in his throat. “Tell me what I can do to help?”

His hand stopped, and though she would never say it, she felt the loss of the comforting weight keenly. She rolled over, and began to sit up. Immediately Ichabod was there, hands supporting her shoulders and doing most of the lifting for her. Once she was upright, he went back to standing, hands folded behind his back so he wouldn’t twiddle his fingers like normal.

“I don’t need help, Crane.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Poppycock. You were out like a lamp, sleeping like the dead. Not to mention your fever is worryingly high, Lieutenant. You must be taken to a physician post haste.”

“I don’t need a doctor, I just need some cold medicine, then I’ll be fine--”

“But--” he began, but she held up a hand.

“You need to trust me on this,” she swallowed, tongue feeling dumb and thick in her mouth. “Medicine has advanced more than you can believe. Besides, why are you here? How did you get in?”

“When you didn’t respond to my text message asking what ‘R&R’ was, I began to be worried. When you didn’t answer your phone, I worried even more. Then I called the Captain to see if you had arrived at work this morning. When he confirmed that you had _called in sick_ , I found your lack of response to my urgent missals even more worrying.”

“Fine, that checks out,” Abbie said, smoothing back her hair and rubbed her throat. A thin sheen of sweat covered her skin. Crane was now pacing around her room, refusing to look at her. It probably had to do with the fact that she wasn’t “properly dressed.” Hell, she didn’t even have a bra on. Abbie couldn’t find it in her to care.

He stopped in front of the window, looking out. “But the second part of that question was how did you get in? My door better not be broken down.”

This he actually laughed at, turning from the window and coming back to her side. “I arrived at your door and knocked and knocked. You didn’t respond. I called out your name a few times, even. When that too, failed to rouse a response out of your dwelling, I used the key you gave me to let myself in. You weren’t in the living area or the kitchen, so I went further into your house, and heard you rolling about in here.”

Of course. How had she forgotten the key she had given him?

“I hope you’re not upset, Lieutenant. About me coming over, or anything before. I apologize profusely for whatever I may have done that irked you so,” Ichabod said, reaching for a hand that sat on top of her duvet. His large hand encapsulated her own, and despite his insistence that she had a fever, his fingers felt reassuringly warm around her own.

“Why would you think I was upset with you?” Abbie said, coughing into her free hand. Ichabod’s brow creased at her hoarse rasping.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you were ill in your text message. I had to find out from the Captain you were not feeling well,” he looked so much like a kicked puppy, she just wanted to wrap him up in a hug, though that might just be the fever talking

“That’s only because one of two things would’ve happened. One,” she held up a finger, pretending not to notice he still had her other hand clasped in his own. “You would worry too much, just like you are now. Two, I would get a lovely ‘told-you-so’ because yesterday, when I so much as _sneezed_ you told me I was getting sick. I’m not mad, Crane.”

“I reject the idea of worrying too much out of hand. There is no such thing about worrying to much over your lov--your friends,” he stopped quickly, hand dropping her own before turning away. The blush across his cheekbones was unmistakable.

Abbie chose to ignore it. No way was he going to say loved ones. He didn’t love her, not really. Not romantically. Not in the only way she wanted. _Stop_. She shook herself mentally.

“Well if you want to be helpful, take my debit card and go to the grocery store. There’s some medicine there, I’ll write you a list.” Abbie figured letting him help and giving him some distance to cool his embarrassment was the best option for both of them. No way was she going to be able to make herself presentable for public. Abbie would stand out even in Wal-Mart right now.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” he said, and returned with the pad of paper she kept beside her phone and a pen.

 _Nyquil, Dayquil, Cough drops (any kind except Ricola, I know you think all-natural is best, but those don’t have drugs in them), chicken soup, lemon tea, honey_.

She handed him the list. “Just ask the clerk, and they’ll bring you where you need to go, alright?”

“I’m sure I can manage. Now please, go to sleep. I’ll be back as quickly as possible,” he said, taking the piece of paper in one hand. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead and scuttled from the room. It took a good fifteen minutes for Abbie’s cheeks to cool and her heart to slow down enough for her to go to sleep again. Even when she was sick, Ichabod Lady-killer Crane was able to get her all hot and bothered.

 

Her nap was cut woefully short when she awoke to a long round of deep, death-rattle coughs that shook her entire body. Ichabod was already in her room when the fit ended, he wrapped her in his arms unthinkingly, patting her back until her breathing was back to normal-ish as was possible. He released her immediately when she drew back.

“I apologize for the impropriety, Miss Mills, you just looked so distraught. I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be,” Abbie said. “But why are you back so soon?”

Ichabod gave her a confused look. “It’s been five hours, Lieutenant. I’ve let you sleep all this time.”

“Five hours?” Abbie said, looking at her clock to confirm. “What have you been doing the whole time?”

“I’ve kept myself busy,” Ichabod said with a small smile. “First, here are the Dayquil pills you asked for. The Nyquil appeared to be for only nighttime use.” He proffered the large orange pills and offered her a glass of water. She took them gratefully and threw them back, wincing when her throat protested.

“Is your throat bothering you?” Crane asked.

Abbie nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine. That’s what the lemon tea and honey are for.”

Ichabod stood, “I’ll get you just the thing.” When he moved to leave, Abbie stopped him.  
“Wait, I’ll get it. I can’t stand to be cooped up in my room anymore.”

“Miss Mills, you must rest, I insist,” he said, thin mouth turning down in a frown.

“I can rest on the couch just as well as I can in my bed,” she said, and began to get up. When she took the first step to get her toward the door, she slipped. Abbie barely had time to register that she was falling before Ichabod had her in his arms, warm presence there making sure she didn’t fall.

“How about we take this a little more slowly?” he said, grinning down at her from behind her shoulder.

“Fine,” she said, and began walking again. Abbie had just gotten to the hallway when her legs nearly gave out, and Ichabod was there again. He wrapped her arm around his waist, his arm firmly around her shoulders. She gave him a look, and he frowned.

“If you insist on this tomfoolery, then I will not let you fall. Pride be damned, if you’ll excuse my foul language,” he said. Abbie didn’t respond, but she hoped he didn’t see her grin as he helped her to the couch.

Once she was sat down, he placed on of her blankets around her shoulders. It was a big, wooly monstrous thing, unbelievably warm and soft. She snuggled into it with a sniffle.

Ichabod laughed.

“What’s that for?” Abbie said petulantly.

Ichabod only grinned, tucking the free end of the blanket around her bare toes. “I just thought for a minute that some demons must live in fear of you, as you are a Witness of God. So powerful and strong.  Yet here you lay, in an enormous t-shirt, with fleeced, horse-shoe printed trousers, wrapped in a woolen blanket, sniffling. You are about as threatening as a kitten!”

“I am _not_ a kitten.” Abbie said trying to look foreboding. When Ichabod chuckled and turned away, she responded to his back, “Well we can’t all be tall, dark, and British all the time!” He just laughed and smiled to himself before exiting to the kitchen.

Moments later returned with a mug and a steaming bowl.

“Drink this first, little kitten. Maybe then you’ll actually grow claws,” he said, chuckling to himself as he handed her the mug. Abbie couldn’t help but smile and wrap her fingers around the warm ceramic. The murky depths of the cup didn’t look like lemon tea, but she figured Ichabod would never give her something that would harm her. Plus, her throat was aching and she couldn’t find it in her to speak again. The liquid burned like fire down her throat, numbing the tender flesh and clearing out her sinuses simultaneously, better than any cold medicine.

“What was that?!” Abbie said after her first gulp. She drained the rest of the cup, hoping the numbing effects would continue; she almost felt like a normal human being now.

“That was a hot toddy, Miss Mills. Water, lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and whiskey,” he grinned impishly from his spot on the opposite side of the couch.

“Where did you get the whiskey? I don’t have any in the house right now,” Abbie asked, reaching for the bowl of soup.

“I bought it. That is what my mother made us drink as children, albeit I spiked it with a tad more alcohol than my mother would’ve served,” he said, leaning back and laying one arm along the back of the couch. “It always cleared up a cold right away.”

“Well thank you,” Abbie said, touched. He had never told her about his mother before, but from the look in his eyes, now was not the time to ask. Then she began sipping the soup. It was warmer, fuller tasting than she was used to. “This isn’t Campbell’s, is it?”

“Of course not! I would not trust your nutritional well-being to a canned-soup company. I made this myself, with some homemade chicken stock,” Ichabod said, looking aghast at the suggestion that he would _ever_ feed her store-bought soup. “I had plenty of time while you slept.”

“Well thank you again,” Abbie said, touched. She didn’t want to look at him right now, didn’t want to see the evidence in his eyes that he genuinely cared about her, and not in a superficial way like Luke or the multitude of other guys she had gone out with that had seen her when she was sick. They had just tossed her a foil packet of pills and maybe handed her a tissue. This went above and beyond. Even when her mother was still alive, she didn’t have the means to sit at home and baby Abbie and Jenny. She had tried her best, to be sure, but Abbie had grown used to handling her sicknesses herself. But Ichabod was here, a warm, caring presence in the room, willing to not only bring her her pills, but go to the store, and make her _homemade_ soup. Honestly, she felt like crying of happiness. Though she was sick, Abbie had never felt happier, safer than she was right now.

“Are you all right, Miss Mills? Is there anything else you require? Did I do something wrong?” Ichabod said, straightening up and moving closer to her on the couch to where she was wrapped in her blanket, only her hands and face peeking out.

Abbie smiled, “No, I’m okay. More than okay, but it would be awesome if you would do me one more favor?”

“Anything,” Ichabod said earnestly.

“Could you pop in the new _Star Trek?_ I don’t want to go back to my room.” she said.

“As you wish,” Ichabod said with a smile. With practiced ease, he took the DVD out of its case and put it in the player, turning on the TV and returned to the couch, holding the remote. How much he had learned in such a short amount of time.

Just then, Abbie shivered.

“Are you cold?” Crane asked, peering at her, moving to test her forehead.

“A little,” Abbie said, tugging the edges of the blanket closer.

Ichabod stood. “I’ll fetch another blanket for you immediately.”

Abbie grabbed his sleeve as he walked by. “Don’t. Just come here.”

He sat down next to her on the couch, and without seeing how he would respond, she lifted his arm and snuggled into his shoulder just in time to see the opening credits go across the screen.  The sickness and cold meds had made her bold.  Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Ichabod stiffened for a moment after his arm fell back on her shoulders, but he relaxed seconds later. As the movie went on, he was completely relaxed, absentmindedly smoothing her hair.

Abbie began to drift off, but she wanted to tell Ichabod how thankful she was that he had been here for her like no one else ever had, that he had gone above and beyond the call of duty, and she was so, so grateful. All that came out was “Thank you, Ichabod.”

His hand stopped, and he felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I will always be here for you, Abbie.”

She felt her smile all the way down to her toes. The sleep she got there on her couch, sick with a cold, draped over Ichabod were the most peaceful, contented moments she could remember for a long while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Please leave me comments with suggestions, prompts, critiques, whatever!  
> See you soon  
> I mean it  
> Bliss


	10. Paranormal Activity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just something I wrote up really quick, because I promised faster updates and I was feeling bad about not really following up on that. This is more than a little nonsensical and cracky. Hope you all enjoy!

Halloween had come and gone again, along with their one year anniversary of being capital-W Witnesses together.  It had passed without much pomp and circumstance, as All Hollow’s Eve wasn’t the best time for celebration when your main form of time occupation was fighting off creatures of Hell.  Abbie was wounded, and sitting on the couch didn’t make her anymore celebratory.

“I can take care of myself, Crane.  Okay?” She said as he insisted on getting up himself to get her a refill on coffee.

“Not with a torn ACL you cannot, Lieutenant.  Please, it is my fault—“

“Enough with the ‘It’s my fault,’ bullshit,” Abbie said, holding up a hand.

Ichabod set down the mug he was holding on the coffee table in front of her, throwing his hands about to make a point.  “If I had simply listened better and heard which room the commotion had been in, you wouldn’t be bedridden.”

“There were two doors, you chose the wrong one.  Bad luck.  It was my bad I didn’t tango well with some faceless nightmare monster from the inner depths of hell,” Abbie said, straining to bend forward to grab the cup.  Her braced leg was getting in the way. Neither one said anything when Ichabod nudged the handle into her reaching fingers.

“It still stands that I am mobile but you are not.  What a magnificent present for our anniversary,” Ichabod said before settling down on the couch cushion next to her.

“That is today, isn’t it?” Abbie said, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“I thought it was the woman who was supposed to remember silly things like anniversaries?” Ichabod said, not looking at her.  His lips curled up at the edges.

Abbie slapped his shoulder.  “You know I’m bad with dates.”

“So it appears,” Ichabod said.  He picked up the remote to the TV and began flipping through channels, making an errant sound of disgust here or there.  Thank God he spared Abbie another one of his rants about what passed for entertainment nowadays.  “Also, it seems like fate has given us this day off since the Captain said you were not to come into work today or he would, and I quote ‘break your other leg like a twig,’ so as to require you to crawl if you insisted on coming into the station.”

“Yeah, I remember what he said, Crane,” Abbie said.  “It is still kind of Halloween season.  We should watch a horror movie.”

Ichabod turned a looked at her, diverting his attention from flipping through the channels.  “A ‘horror movie’?”

“Yeah, scary movies, with fake demons and monsters instead of real ones.  I loved them when I was growing up.  I thought they’d be even better now that I’ve seen the real thing,” Abbie said.

“The doctor did say the medication you were on could lead you to become more than a little incoherent,” Ichabod said.  “I am not entirely certain this is the best course of action for the afternoon, Miss Mills.”

“I’m not high off my meds, Crane.  There’s a DVD over there in the rack,” Abbie pointed to her bookshelf with its rows of CD’s, DVD’s, and books.  “It’s called _Paranormal Activity_ , grab it and put it in.  And that’s final.”

Ichabod muttered to himself about this being a preposterous idea, and why would anyone want to scare themselves on _purpose?_ Especially if it involved demons.   But Abbie was injured because of him, and this was the anniversary of their sudden but life-changing first meeting.  Ichabod Crane knew many things had changed in the 251 years since he had been killed on the battlefield, but giving women what they wanted when they were ill or injured was something that was still the same.

He took the DVD off the shelf, thankful the Lieutenant kept them alphabetized by title, and put the disc into the player.

He sat down next to her, and noticed Abbie shivering a little.

“Are you in need of a blanket, Miss Mills?”

Abbie looked at him and couldn’t hide the smile from her face.  “Actually, that would be great.”

He took the blanket from where it sat on her armchair and settled it across her lap.  Moments later, after he had settled into the cushions, he felt a light weight shifting.  Abbie was leaning over to tuck the blanket around his legs.  “What, pray tell, are you doing, Miss Mills?”

“You’re cold too, don’t pretend.”

He didn’t argue.

Then the movie began playing, and Ichabod was immediately swept in.

“You’re telling me these people set cameras up _in their home_ to catch unwieldy sprits instead of conversing with a religious professional from the beginning?”

“Just watch,” Abbie said, shushing him.  As it went on, he got more and more agitated, muffling his small screams with coughs during the jump scares and lamenting their stupidity more and more as time passed.

“At this point you would believe they would’ve left!” He said nearing the end of the movie.

“They’re white people, Crane.  Stupidity in the face of the supernatural is kind of their thing,” she said, moving closer and leaning into his shoulder.  She was suddenly getting sleepy.  Abbie rubbed her eyes to keep herself awake.  Crane’s reaction to the end was going to be great and she would be damned if she missed it.

“I take offense to that,” he said.  Abbie yawned and moved closer we he put an errant arm around her shoulder.

“’S just a fact.  Watch any horror film.  Always the same.”

Ichabod didn’t deign to respond, and Abbie was falling victim to the pain medication she had taken earlier.

When the finale came, Ichabod wasn’t prepared.  He had just gotten completely comfortable with Abbie’s head lying against his shoulder and her warm weight on his side.  The screaming alone was enough to make him jump, and Abbie was immediately awoken and nearly thrown to the ground.

“Hey, careful with the leg, Crane,” she said rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“How could someone make that into a film for others to watch?!” Ichabod screamed.  “Those people were just murdered by a demon or a spirit or _something_.  Now it’s on the loose!  We must do something about it, Lieutenant.  This kind of treachery and devilry cannot be condoned!”

“Ichabod,” Abbie said, using his first name to get his attention.  “It’s not real.”

Ichabod turned to her, and seeing her struggling to sit up, immediately helped her with shaking fingers.  “But it said at the very beginning that it was based upon real events.”

“They put that at the beginning of almost every scary movie.  It makes it more real.  More fun,” Abbie said, yawning again.  The damned doctor hadn’t told her the medicine was supposed to make her drowsy.

“How is that _fun_?” Ichabod said, crossing his arms behind his back and pacing back and forth.

“Because people like me get to see reactions from people like you,” Abbie said with a smile before promptly falling back asleep.

Ichabod opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but declined.  Instead, he lifted her prone form and moved her to her bedroom.  Once he shut the door, he removed the wretched movie from the DVD player and hid it behind a rather thick volume.  Hopefully that way, she wouldn’t find it and subject him to that horror again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys didn't hate it too much. I'm running short of ideas for this fic, so if you have a scene you'd like me to write, a prompt, or a what-if, just let me know and I'd be happy to explore it. I also have a few other ideas for a fic, so you can check those out on my profile and let me know what you think
> 
> Much love, and please leave comments!  
> Bliss


	11. Lucy Lou's Sweet Cupcake Treats

The sun was hot on the back of Ichabod's neck as he followed Abbie's noisy steps down the boardwalk. People meandered about on all sides, though not so many that he felt claustrophobic. The surf beat down on the sad about a hundred meters away, a deep, clear blue he had almost forgotten existed and the air was filled with the salty scent of brine. It was just passed noon on the first day of his an Abbie's vacation, insisted upon by Irving. They had gone to a small beach town an hour's drive away called Captain's Cove. It was supposed to be small, quaint, and quiet, with a low crime rate and no unusual occurrences in the past year. Abbie had checked. And it was living up to its reputation.

That morning, he and Abbie had checked into the small two bedroom, one bath cabin they would be sharing for the week. It had cheery yellow siding and nautical décor, the beds were made with starched sheets and the kitchen was pristine, not to mention the sixty inch flat screen Abbie had made sure to point out. The whole time they had seen few people, aside from an elderly couple out for a morning walk across the beach. It was the living embodiment of peaceful summer getaway, and Ichabod and Abbie had fallen instantaneously into its thrall.

That is, until they decided to go out to the boardwalk.

"Did you really have to wear the jacket, too, Crane?" Abbie said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Of course, a gentleman never goes out less than properly attired," he sniffed, and pretended he was just brushing aside an errant strand of hair whilst he wiped at the sweat on his brow.

"All I'm saying is that it is ninety degrees outside and you're getting weird looks. Not to mention you're sweating like a sinner in church," she said. Abbie moved quickly down the path, smiling at everyone who walked by. All of them were far too scantily clad for his tastes, the Lieutenant herself included. He had said nothing when she had finished changing in her bedroom, and had come out in a short, red dress with sheer lace above the bust and at the hem with cutouts in the back. It showed far more skin than which he was accustomed and had to bite his tongue when she caught his reproachful look. But at least she was cooler than he, and didn't appear to be losing all of her bodily fluids through sweat.

"I beg your pardon," Ichabod said, aghast.

Abbie stopped and turned, arms crossed and gave him a disbelieving look. "Oh don't pretend. I see you wiping away your sweaty face. If you had just worn the swimsuit and t-shirt I bought you, this wouldn't be a—"

"You expect me to go gallivanting about in public, wearing that  _swimsuit_ , which is hardly a suit at all, may I add, with nothing to cover me above the waist when we actually engage in swimming. Pardon me for not revealing myself to the world." He said. This time, when he swiped at his brow, he didn't even pretend.

"Okay fine, point there for not being comfortable. But that coat is thick and it is wool and I'm starting to think you've got sunstroke," Abbie looked a little bit exasperated.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant. As I always am."

"No, you're not," she said, and stepped toward him, having forgone her usual heels for what she called flip-flops, she had to go on her tip-toes to reach his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're flushed, and very warm, and I guarantee dehydrated too," she reached into a large, woven-straw bag at her side, pulling out a bottle of water. "Drink this, I just wanted to come here to grab dinner. We'll be in and out and back to the cabin so we can swim in semi-privacy in no time."

Ichabod said nothing just took her at her word and began drinking from the bottle. They went in and out of a small grocery store owned by a kindly older fellow who didn't make a comment at Ichabod's coat. Abbie grabbed some fish from under the "Catch of the Day" sign, as well as some other sundries, and they were on their way. Abbie was just about to turn to go back when she broke out into a wide grin.

"What is it, Miss Mills?"

Instead of answering, she pointed to a hanging sign blowing in the breeze that said  _Lucy Lou's Sweet Cupcake Treats._

"What is a cupcake, may I ask, Miss Mills?" She seemed utterly enthralled, but he was still confused as to why

Abbie shook her head a little, grabbed his hand and nearly ran to the store. "I'm not even going to bother explaining because you are about to find out."

The shop was small, just four walls with two small tables near the entrance. Near the back was dominated by a large glass case filled with small cakes with large mounds of frosting in every color imaginable.

"Hello, welcome to  _Lucy Lou's_ , how can I help you?" A twenty-something girl with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail smiled at them from behind the case.

"We're here for some cupcakes," Abbie said.

The girl smiled, "Well you've definitely come to the right place, how many would you like?"

Abbie went through the transaction quickly, nearly salivating on the polished glass.

"Alright, so you've got six cupcakes, a red velvet, a chocolate peanut butter banana, crème brulee, a mango passionfruit, a chocolate explosion, and a very vanilla, is that everything for you?" the girl said. Abbie nodded, and paid. Ichabod insisted on carrying the box.

"Thank you, Miss," he looked at the nametag pinned to her apron. "Lucy. And may I surmise that you are the Lucy for which this shop is so named?"

A blush crept high on her cheekbones and she nodded. "I make them all myself every day. I hope you guys like them!"

"I'm sure we will, have a fantastic evening, Miss Lucy. I have a feeling we will be seeing you again in our short tenure here," Ichabod said, and smiled at the girl.

Once the door was closed and they began walking back, Abbie bumped him with her shoulder.

"You nearly charmed the pants off of that girl back there, Crane," Abbie said.

"What ever do you mean?" he said

"Oh please, you went all tall dark and british on her. You got to keep the charm down to a manageable level." The streets were thinning out of people and they were nearly to their house.

"So being polite is simply too charming?" Ichabod tried to hide his grin as Abbie fished for the keys as they walked up to the gate.

"It is in a tourist town. They're not used to people saying please and thank you, let alone 'have a fantastic evening, Miss Lucy's'," Abbie said, holding open the picketed gate in front of the house. "Just set the things on the counter. I'll take care of dinner. Go lie down and for God's sake, take off the jacket, please. You don't look like you're about to faint anymore but I don't want to be taking any chances."

He did as was told, locking the door and laying down on the puffy navy coloured duvet, but not before taking off his boots and jacket and even his shirt, leaving him lying there in just his breeches. The air swept around by the fan felt blessedly cool, as did the sea breeze coming in through his cracked window. Before long, he was drifting off to sleep.

It felt as if no time at all had passed when he was woken by Abbie knocking on the door before letting herself in.

"Crane dinner is—" she stopped and looked at his naked chest before swallowing visibly. She closed her eyes and took a quick breath. "Okay, take two, ignoring your shirtlessness. Dinner is ready whenever you are. Please throw on a shirt though, I know you don't like the t-shirts, but we wear them for a reason. Try one on."

Ichabod opened his mouth to apologize for his indecency, not that this was anything Abbie hadn't seen before, but the Lieutenant butted in.

"I swear if you apologize for being shirtless I will punch you. I thought we were past that already." She said and shut the door.

"Next time you disrobe, Ichabod Crane, make certain the door is  _locked_ ," he said, chastising himself aloud. He did as Abbie told him, putting on one of the soft cotton t-shirts emblazoned with _Sleepy Hollow Police Department_. No one would see him aside from the Lieutenant anyway, and it was awfully warm.

He padded to the kitchen, having left his boots in the room. Abbie went barefoot all the time, and with the cool tile under his toes, he was beginning to understand why.

"C'mon and eat. Good to see you ditched the wool and boots," Abbie said, setting a dish on the table.

Ichabod went to Abbie's side of the table and pulled out her seat before going and sitting down himself. It had taken awhile, but now the Lieutenant let him keep some of his gentlemanly habits without complaining. Much.

"What are we having today, Miss Mills?"

Abbie smiled, serving up food as she explained. "Some blackened swordfish, sweetcorn, and hush puppies. Cupcakes are for dessert, of course."

The meal passed quickly with amiable conversation. It was rare to see Abbie so relaxed, and it allowed her humor to shine through.

"So you're telling me you'd go swimming  _buck naked_  with your friends, but you were throwing a hissy fit over a baggy pair of swim trunks?" Abbie said, half-laughing the entire sentence.

"That is what boys did, Miss Mills. Besides, there weren't any women around to see us. Those swim trunks however, are both an affront to propriety and fashion," Ichabod said, gesturing with his fork.

"You say that having never seen Zac Efron in a pair," Abbie stood, placing her silverware and napkin on her plate before going to the kitchen. "Almost cupcake time, Crane."

"Miss Mills, please sit down," Ichabod said, standing to help her. "You made this supper all while I slumbered away. It's only fair that I do the dishes, especially after how wonderful your cooking was."

Abbie shrugged and set down the dishtowel. "Thanks, Crane."

He finished up the dishes quickly while Abbie watched something called  _Say Yes to the Dress_.

"I do believe now is 'cupcake time', Miss Mills," Ichabod called to her once he put the last dish away.

Abbie jumped up and cracked open the box. "Okay, so we're going to go halfsies on two, okay? Because I want a taste of all of them."

"That is precisely what I was thinking, Miss Mills," Ichabod said with a grin.

Abbie picked out a pinkish one she said was mango passionfruit and the chocolate peanut butter before slicing them neatly in half and placing one of each on a plate for him.

"You get first bite since you've never had a cupcake before," Abbie said.

"Miss Mills, it seems you are making cupcakes out to be a very big deal," he said.

Abbie gave him a wicked grin, "That's because cupcakes are a very big deal. Now shut up and take a bite, I want some of my own cupcakes."

He did as was told and nearly fainted when the rush of flavors overtook his tongue. Ichabod had had both chocolate and peanut butter and bananas before, but this was something else. The cake was so rich with the chocolate frosting and melted in his mouth. Ichabod was suddenly glad to be in the future if for no other reason than cupcakes.

"Next time, Crane, save that moan for the bedroom," Abbie said, before diving into her own dessert.

Ichabod didn't even have the grace to be embarrassed as he ignored her comment and went onto the next half. If he spent the entire week eating Miss Lucy's cupcakes, it wouldn't be a week wasted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry doesn't even begin to cover for how long I've been away, and for no reason, I just didn't really have inspiration. But then I plowed through the entire first season of The 100(which is a fantastic show, all of you should watch it) and saw a really pretty girl in a cover-up and had the idea from Pretty to have Ichabod eat a /really/ good cupcake and thought of this (Thanks Pretty!) . This will be continued, because I have some fun things they can do on a beach. This is just the beginning. To all the people who have left feedback, kudos, and everything else THANK YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK You guys rock. Seriously.
> 
> Also, this wasn't really based off a specific place, aside from a really quaint cupcake shop in Hilton Head, but I didn't want to set this in Hilton Head because I felt it would be too commercialized for our two favorite Witnesses. So yeah. If you want a shop to be there, just tell me and I'll include it.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this, despite my long overdue return, and I will see y'all soon!
> 
> Much love
> 
> -Bliss


	12. Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n this takes place a few hours after last chapter ended

“C’mon, Ichabod, you’ve slept enough,” Abbie said, grabbing his hand and yanking on it like a child.  He lay on the couch, in what Abbie had dubbed a “food coma” watching a show called _Big Brother_ (which he had surmised involved locking a motley group of people inside a house and watching them get up to shenanigans twenty-four hours a day).  Ichabod was more than content to stay where he was for the rest of forever.

            “I am not sleeping, Lieutenant.  Merely _resting_ ,” he said.

            “Yeah well, while you’re ‘resting’ the sun is setting over our uninterrupted view of the beach.  You can watch _Big Brother_ when we get back to Sleepy Hollow,” Abbie said, dropping his hand and tapping her foot.  “You’re always the one complaining about how modernity has ruined people’s connection with the earth, and how we no longer ‘commune with nature’ as we once did.”

            Abbie put air quotes around his words and donned an awful attempt at an English accent.

            “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I do not talk like that,” Ichabod said, sitting up, and rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand.

            “Look at you, using hyperboles like a regular person,” Abbie smiled.  When she smiled at him so earnestly like that, he would be willing to do anything for her, least of all go outside.  He sighed.

            “Yes, well, I’ve had an excellent teacher, haven’t I?  Now, what was this about a sunset over the beach?” he said, smiling at her in return.  Ichabod stood then, towering over Abbie.  It was moments like these he remembered how small she was.  Sunlight streaked in from low angles from the French doors that opened directly to a patio adjacent to the sandy beach and the light alit on the Lieutenant’s cheekbones in an extraordinarily fetching fashion.  With her hair in a low, messy ponytail, her face devoid of the cosmetics with which she was so enamored, and clothed in an oversized _Mets_ t-shirt and denim shorts he could picture them living together like this forever.  Him and Abbie living together in this cabin, on the ocean, with nary a care in the world aside from which cupcake they would delve into the next day.  Dreams would not be able to compare.

            But alas, that was as yet in itself a dream, and as such, he would savor every moment of their getaway and indulge Abbie in every whim.

            “Well, should we be off?” Ichabod said moving toward the door.  When he didn’t hear Abbie following, he looked back to her, only to see her staring after him, a contemplative smile across her mouth.

            “Is something wrong, Miss Mills?” he said, folding his arms behind his back.  It felt like she was inspecting him.

            “Nothing, I just hadn’t really taken in your ensemble yet, Crane.”

            He looked down at himself.  It was the same t-shirt she had instructed him to wear along with his regular breeches, he was still bare-footed.  “Yes, well, it’s certainly not the height of fashion, but I never fancied myself a dandy.”

            “Okay, Crane.  But you have to admit, it almost looks sillier than your usual getup,” Abbie said and walked up to the door.

            “I’ll pretend I didn’t take offense to that, Lieutenant,” he sniffed. He noticed then that she wore no shoes, not even her “flip flops”.  No wonder she seemed so much shorter than he.  “Also, I must ask, were you planning on going outdoors without shoes?”

            “It’s a beach Crane, unless you want sand in your shoes forever, as well as being all up in each and every one of your orifices, it’s best to leave them in the house,” she said. 

            “Alright, well, shall we be off,” he offered his arm to her and opened the door.  Abbie took it, taking a gingham print blanket in her arm.  Then she him a smile that made his knees go weak, though he’d never admit it, and they began their trek along the beach.

            The sand was soft beneath his toes, and warm.  Waves crashed against the beach meters away, the assorted detritus of low-tide left behind on the wetter sand.  Each breath he took smelled of brine, and when the wind blew just right, he could smell Abbie’s freesia and vanilla shampoo.  Low in the west, the sun had begun to set, the sky awash with crimson, orange, yellows, purples, and royal blue.

            He and Abbie walked along, her hand shifting from his arm to grasp his left hand with her right. It wouldn’t be considered proper by his time’s standards, but with a scene so idyllic, he could hardly find it within himself to care.  Abbie’s tiny hand wrapped in his own long, bony fingers felt soft and warm and _right_.  Ichabod rarely felt as safe and content in the twenty-first century as he did then.  The blanket ended up in his other arm, as what kind of gentleman let the lady be the pack mule? 

            “Oh, look! A sand dollar,” Abbie said, releasing his hand and darting out into the sand still drying from the ocean tide to take hold of a perfectly circled shell.  She walked back up to him, admiring the shell while brushing off sand and dirt from its bony white surface.  “I love finding one perfect seashell whenever I can get to the beach.  And this is it, Crane.  Never found such a nice sand dollar before.”

            “What a find indeed,” he said, smiling down at her.  Delight brightened her entire face, smile stretching her mouth wide.  This time, Ichabod took her hand.

            A few more minutes passed on their stroll, and the sun sunk lower and lower toward the horizon.  Suddenly, Abbie said, “This looks like as good a place as any.”

            She took the blanket from his arms and spread it on the sand, plopping herself down onto the middle.  Ichabod tried to take a seat with a little more decorum, but was thwarted when Abbie yanked rather firmly on his arm and he ended sprawled next to her.

            “Was that entirely necessary?” he asked, brushing sand off his clothes.

            Abbie snorted.  “You’ve got to loosen up, Crane, we’re on the _beach_ , watching a sunset.  Plopping into the sand is kind of a requirement.”

            “If you say so, Miss Mills.”

            They both fell silent then, their gaze set to the heavens, watching the light slowly drain from the sky.  Midnight hues over took the warm brightness of the sun as the sound of waves crashing filled their ears.  A seagull flew overhead, its throaty cry the only interruption.  There wasn’t another person on the beach as far as Ichabod could see.

           “Y’know, the last time we used this blanket was when I took you out to see that meteor shower,” Abbie said, leaning back on her hands.

            Ichabod smiled at the memory.  “Ah, yes.  I remember.  That was a good night.”

            “Yeah,” Abbie said, looking up at him.  “Yeah, it was.”

            His entire body buzzed with contentment, and when Abbie laced her fingers with his and moved to him to rest her head on his shoulder, he could hardly believe his luck.  Ichabod wrapped his arm around her, and smoothed her hair.  Abbie’s breath warmed his neck.

            “What a beautiful sight,” he breathed.

            Abbie hmmm’ed her agreement.  “I told you it would be a good sunset.”

            _I wasn’t talking about the sunset_ , Ichabod thought as he leaned his own head atop hers, his hand resting just behind her back as he watched the sun fall and the tide roll in.

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: hope you guys liked that fluff. It was short with no real point but I just love the idea of watching a sunset on a beach with no one around except a hottie ;) As I said before, this is a great playground, so there will be more chapters coming out for this setting. Thanks for all of your continued support and as always let me know what I can do better or if you have any suggestions!
> 
> Love always
> 
> -Bliss


	13. Abbie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this comes over a year (?) after my last update. Ooops. Life got away from me. Explanation at the bottom, if you care to know why I have been absent.
> 
> This chapter is really angsty. I've been looking for some angst fics to fill the emptiness in my soul in the wake of Novus Ordo Seclorum. I couldn't find anything like that, so I wrote it instead. This focuses on Ichabod.
> 
> I hope to have a fluffy chapter up soon to make up for all the sadness. (Sooner than another year, anyway)

Ichabod had never felt so numb.  Not when he was camped out during his first North American winter, fingers blue, breath frosting before it even came out of his mouth.  Not when he had found out he had a _son_.  Not when he had to stab his own wife.  Not even when he died had he been as bereft of feeling as he was in this current moment.  The shard was gone, and so too was Abbie.

 _Take care of each other_ , she had said.  Ichabod’s mind was addled.  More from her absence than the blast, he had to assume.  He had withstood harsher beatings than this, that was true, but none had left him as ravaged.

Looking once more at the tree where his partner very obviously wasn’t, he stood on legs he could not feel and took steps he did not register over to where Jenny lay on the stone slab.  She still breathed.  The rise and fall of her chest was apparent, and her pulse was weak, but there.  Ichabod took out his cell phone, still present and miraculously unharmed from his pocket.  He laughed quietly.  How fragile these modernities, yet how durable.  It had survived and Abbie hadn’t.

Ichabod started to dial when he heard a voice behind him.  “What are you going to say, Ichabod?” Joe sat up, rubbing his head. 

“I intended to call for some medical attention.  You and Miss Jenny—”

“I got bumped on the head.  Minor concussion, probably.  Jenny?”

“Breathing,” Ichabod said.

“Oh thank God.”  Joe moved to stand, painstakingly leveraging himself up.  Ichabod watched for a few moments, but turned back to Miss Jenny.  He couldn’t find it within himself to walk over to his companion and help.  “We need to get her to a hospital.”

“Hence the call I was on the cusp of making.”

“Yeah, a call to the paramedics, then the cops would arrive, and the feds would come and there is no way we can explain this much firepower, let alone to two mythical figures…where are they?” Joe had limped his way over to the plinth where Jenny lay and ran his fingers over her jaw, her cheekbones.  The relief in Joe’s face felt like a kick to the stomach.

“I do not know.” _I care not_ , he wanted to say.

“Abbie?” 

A slice to his heart.  He was numb, _numb_.  He wouldn’t feel the full blow of that word. A few moments passed and Joe didn’t pursue the topic again.  Instead, the military man attempted to lift Jenny into his arms, only to begin to fall backward.

“Here,” Ichabod said.  “I will take her.  I am uninjured.”  Both he and Joe knew that was a lie.

***

“She’ll live, just needs some time to rest,” the doctor said.  Ichabod didn’t know her name, hadn’t paid attention when she’d introduced herself.  Hadn’t particularly cared.

The Corbin boy almost cried from joy.

“Do you want to go see her?”  The doctor peered at them both, and Joe nodded enthusiastically.  Ichabod started to follow behind, his steps leaden and slow. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder.  “Only one at a time, I’m afraid,” the doctor said.  “She’s stable, but still in rough shape.”

Ichabod nodded.  “Alright.”

He turned and left the hospital, caring little enough about telling Joe where he was going that he didn’t say anything at all.

            ***

Through some twist of fate, or maybe on purpose—he  didn’t know if Abbie had subconsciously planned for these sorts of contingencies—her house was relatively close to the hospital.  He walked the three miles, not noticing the chill in the air or the cars that honked when he walked across the streets without looking.  Let an automobile hit him.  He wouldn’t feel it anyway. 

His key had been lost during the fighting and used the spare she kept hidden under a fake rock in the landscaping on the east side of the building.  The key turned smoothly and the door opened without a sound.  Ichabod closed it behind him and left it unlocked.  Maybe Abbie had just run _through_ the tree.  Or maybe it had transported her somewhere.  Or maybe a thousand other things could have happened that didn’t mean she was gone, but could mean that she misplaced her own key ring and would need unimpeded entrance into her own home. 

That’s what he had to tell himself. 

He looked around the rooms, filled with things, but empty without her in them.  The crocheted afghan thrown carelessly over the arm of the couch from where they had been watching musicals a few nights previously, her jacket hung over the back of a chair, their matching coffee mugs, hers big, his small, drying on the rack in the kitchen.  _You can’t handle as much caffeine as I can, so I get the bigger mug_.  She’d grinned as she said it, and winked when she put them in the basket of their shopping cart.  Ichabod felt tears prick at the edges of his eyes.  He made his way to the mudroom, stripping off his boots and overcoat, each covered in muck and dried blood and who knows what else.  Ash, maybe, from incinerated Abbie.  The thought literally choked him and he coughed, trying to bring in enough air.

            _Abbie, Abbie, Abbie_.

He went to the bathroom, double-checking that the door was locked behind him.  His hand was still when he turned in the water.  Nerves, apparently, could get so shot that they didn’t make him shake any longer.  Ichabod stepped into the tub fully clothed and let the water run over him, rushing, dripping down his body, the streams of it trickling reddish-brown down the drain.  His clothes were hard to peel off once he remembered they were still there, but he did it, throwing them with abandon over the curtain rod.  Scrubbing the floors of their filth would give him something to do now that his life had ended.

It was when he accidentally opened Abbie’s bottle of shampoo instead of his that he was finally shocked into feeling.  The water was scalding hot, beating against the skin of his back like a whip.  Ichabod cursed below his breath, still not brash enough to say it too loudly.  He adjusted the water quickly, and pretended to ignore the smell of her that now permeated every corner of the shower.  He cleaned himself roughly and thoroughly, not knowing why he had to rub so hard but knowing that he must.  He must get the memories of this day behind him, he must clean himself of Pandora, of Anubis, of the knowledge that Abbie was _gone_.  It had to be a dream.  It must be a hellish nightmare.  Nothing this bad could ever happen.  Hadn’t he already paid enough?  Hadn’t the Bible said that the witnesses were protected?  That whatever dare hurt them would be hurt doubly, like a Mark of Cain without the curse they would bear.  But what was this hell if not a curse?

He rinsed the shampoo from his hair and stepped out of the stream onto the rug.  His hand shook this time as he turned off the water.  Shook as he reached for his towel.  He was wracked with shaking as he dried himself, as he stepped over the wet pile of mush that was his clothing.  Ichabod almost tripped as he put on a pair of flannel sleep pants, ones that Abbie had to roll up the hems five times in order for her to not trip on them. 

“Get your own, if it’s such a struggle for you to wear mine,” Ichabod had said when she complained about the extra effort.

“Well technically,” Abbie had said, “since I paid for them, they are mine.  And boys’ flannel always smells better than girls’ does.  Like man.”

“Oh, stop being so irrational,” he’d said, feeling a blush creep up his neck and onto the curves of his ears.

“Ask anyone,” she’d replied.  “It’s why girls steal their boyfriend’s clothes.  They smell nice, and it’s easier to relax when you feel safe and secure and surrounded by the smell of your man.”

“So I’m your man?” Ichabod had responded almost without thought.  He laughed when he saw her blush in return.  He had one that one, even though she still stole his pants every so often.

He wished he had a pair that hadn’t been tainted by her memory.  One scrap of cloth that didn’t have her tattooed over its history.  But if she wasn’t wearing his clothes, she was buying them, washing them, stitching them up when they ripped.  He found her hair woven in the fabric sometimes.

“The price of living with a girl,” she’d said when he brought it up.

Ichabod paced through the house, not knowing what to do.  The floor was cold beneath his feet but he didn’t care enough to find socks.  Those had her on them too.

How dare she do this to him?  How dare she leave him?  She saw his face as she stood on that dais, made eye contact.  She had to have felt in the very core of her when he whispered _don’t_ , and yet she did it anyway.  To save her sister.

He didn’t want to feel resentful of Miss Jenny, but how could he avoid it?  It was her stupidity that had gotten them into that mess.  Her brash, reckless behavior, going directly against whatever Abbie had said that had gotten them into this terror.  But Miss Jenny was in the hospital and it was so hard to maintain anger at a person who was still in a coma, and Abbie was gone.  It was far easier to be angry with a ghost.

Did she care so little for the bond they shared?  Of everything they’d been through together?  She could’ve thrown the bomb into the tree, maybe ran herself.  But she had to be so sure, had to make doubly certain.  Abbie could’ve found a way.  Isn’t that what she had said to him so, so long ago?  _There is always another way_.  So why didn’t she find that way?

His anger boiled in him now, his hands shook not from numbness or pain or anxiety but from rage.  How could she leave him to this?  This house filled with her, this life filled with her that couldn’t exist in their entirety without her.  She knew what she was damning him to when she ran inside that tree, and she did it regardless.  He needed to throw something, to hit something.  Ichabod grasped the chair with her jacket hanging on it and threw it.  Drywall dust rained upon him.

“You leave me alone in your house, Abbie?” he yelled, looking to the sky, to the door, as if she would answer.  “Fine, then I’ll make it look like you were never here.”

He flipped the couch, knocked over the tower of DVDs, screaming all the while, shouting his frustration, his desolation, his anger to the world.  He punched the wall to see the crater streaked with blood from his knuckles.  Ichabod saw their mugs sitting so serenely in the drying rack, the two of them together, like himself and Abbie could never be.  Not again.  He took her big, oversized, idiotic mug and hurled it on the floor, feeling more outside his own body, his own self, than within it.

The crashing of that one little mug rang through the house, echoing along the ruined walls.  He stared down at the floor, the pieces no longer making sense since they weren’t interconnected.  Ichabod crumpled, his legs no longer able to support him. 

“What have I done?  Oh, my God.  What have I done?”  He gathered the shards together, tried to make them whole again.  They wouldn’t fit, they wouldn’t go together like a goddamned puzzle was supposed to.  Her mug, _her_ mug.  All of this hers.  What had he done?  Did he really want nothing to do with her?

Tears streamed down his cheeks into his beard.  His shoulders were wracked with sobs, hunched over the broken remains of ceramic, wearing pants Abbie bought for him, on Abbie’s floor, in Abbie’s house, without Abbie in it. 

“Abbie, Abbie, Abbie,” he said, words coming out broken and stretched between the syllables.  _I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ “I’m sorry.  I can’t do this without you.  Can’t take care of anything without you.”

He wished for the numbness again in that moment.  Wished to feel nothing at all, because even that would be better than feeling the aching loneliness of his very heart being absent from his chest, of him living alone, without her.  Numbness, he decided, cradling the broken shards of her mug, was everything compared to that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed.  
> I apologize again for my reckless absence. In 2015 I studied abroad from January to June and had little time to write what with all the adventuring and self-discovery I was doing. Then when I got home I had to work 50+ hours a week to /pay/ for Study Abroad, and to see my friends, family, and boyfriend (bless that man's soul for putting up with me). Then fall semester was really hard. I barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone anything for funsies.
> 
> It is my earnest desire that this chapter sated at least a little of y'alls appetite, and thank you for sticking with me. Each and every one of you mean the world to me.  
> \--Bliss


End file.
